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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 























































































































































































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iLJJth. MWLE II HItE K 


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'he Seaside Library, Pocket Edition. Issued Tri-weekly. Bv Subscription $36 per annum, 
^righted 18S4, by George Munro— Entered at the Post Office at New Vork at second class rates May 42, 1884 







\r 


i >»\ 


The Seaside 

' ' POCK ET SEDITION. 



NO. PRICK. 

1 Yolande. By William Black 20 

2 Molly Bawn. By “The Duchess” — 20 

3 The Mill on the Floss. By George Eliot 20 

> 4 Under Two Flags. By “ Ouida ” 20 

5 Admiral's Ward. By Mrs. Alexander.. 20 

- y<a Portia. By “ The Duchess”.. 20 

7 File No. 1 13. By Emile Gaboriau 20 

-8 East Lynne. By Mrs. Henry Wood.... 20 

9 Wanda. By “ Ouida ” 20 

10 The Old Curiosity Shop. By Dickens. 20 

11 John Halifax; Gentleman. Miss Mulock 20 
- -14 Other People's Money. By Gaboriau. 20 

, 13 Eyre’s Acquittal. By Helen B. Mathers 10 
; 1 1 Airy -Fairy Lilian. By The Duchess ” 10 

15 Jane Eyre. Ry Charlotte Bront6 20 

‘ KkJPhyllis. By- “ The Duchess ...... . 20 

1* The Wooing'O’t. By Mrs. Alexander.. 20 

! 18 Shandon Bells' By William Black 20 

j 1ft Her Mother's Siu. By the Author of 

| Dora Thorne” — ....10 

j 20 Within au juch of His Life. By Emile 

Gaboriau .' 20 

21 Sunrise.’ /By William Black 20 

22 David Co^perfield. Dickens. Vol. I.. 20 

22 David Copperfield. Dickens. Vol. II. 20 

23 A. Princess of Thule. By William Black 20 

24 Pickwick Papers. Dickens. Vol. I... 20 
24 Pickwick. Papers. Dickens. Vol. II.. 20 
25; Mrs. Geofjfrej r . By “ The Duchess ”... 20 
20 Monsieur; Lecoq. By Gaboriau. Vol. I. 20 
2(3 MotfsieurjLecoq. By Gaboriau. Vol. II. 20 
27- Vanity Fair. By William M. Thackeray 20 

428 Ivgnhoe. 1 By Sir Walter Scott 20 

49 Beauty's Daughters. “ The Duchess ” 10 
30 Faith andjUnfaith. ' By “ The Duchess ” 20 

. 3L Middlemareh. B3 r George Eliot 20 

33 .The Lamj Leaguers. Anthony Trollope 20 
33 The Clique of Gold. By Emile Gaboriau 10 
34- Daniel Deronda. B3’’' George Eliot ... 30 
85 Lady Dudley's Secret. Miss Braddon 20 

j 36 Adam Bedp. By George Eliot 20 

1 37 Nicholas NieMeby. B3 r Charles Dickens 30 
i 33 The Widow Let'ott gO i ■> B y-Oftboriam . 20 

39 In Silk Attire. By William Black 20 

jj 40 The 141st Da3 ; s of Poihpeii. By Sir E. - 
Bulwer lytton .20 

41 Oliver Twist. By Charles Dickens ,. .. 20 

42 Bomolar By George . Eliot 20 

43 The Mystery of Orcival. Gaboriau 20 

44 MacleojLof Dare v B y W illiam Black . . 20 

45 A LUtle Pilgrim. By Mrs. On pliant.' . . 10 

, 46 Very Hard Cash. By Charles Reade. . 20 

47 AltioraPeto. By Laurence Oliphant.. 20 
.1 /• 48 Thicker Than Water. B3' James Payn. 20 
r 49 That Beautiful Wretch. By Black. .. 20 

50 The Strange Adventures of a Phaeton. 

\( - By William- Blaek 20 

j 51 Dora Thorne. By the Author of “ Her 

Mother's Sin” 20 

; 52 The New Magdalen. By Wilkie Collins. 20 

i f 53 The Story of Ida. B3' Francesca 10 

1 f 54 A Broken Wedding-Ring. By the Au- 
thor of •“ Dora Thorne ” 20 

; 55 The Three Guardsmen. By Dumas 20 

156 Phantom Fortune. Miss Braddon 20 

I 57_Shirley. By Charlotte Bront6 .20 

f (This List Is Continued 


NO. 


58 By the Gate of the Sea. 


PRICE. 

D. C. Murray 10 


60 
61 
62 

63 

64 


70 

71 

72 

73 . 

74 


Vice Versa. By F. Anstey 20 

The Last of; the Mohicans. Cooper.. 20 
Charlotte Temple. By Mrs. Rovvsou . 10 
The Executor. By Mrs. Alexander. . 20 
The Spy. B3 r J. Fenimore Cooper. .. 20 
A Maiden Fair. B3' Charles Gibbon.. 10 

65 Back to the Old Home. By M. C. Hay 10 

66 The Romance of a Poor Young Man. 

By Octave Feuillet. 10 

67 Lorna Doone. By R. D. Blackmore. . 30 

68 A Queen Amongst Women.- B3 r the 

Author of “ Dora Thorne ” .... 10 

69 Madolin’s Lover. By the Author of 

“Dora Thorne” 7 20 

White Wings.- B3' William Black — 20 
A Struggle for Fame. Mrs. Riddell.. 20 
01dMyddelton’sMoue3 T . ByM. C. Ha3’ 20 
Redeemed b3’ Love. B3' the Author of 

-• Dora Thorne ” 20 

Aurora Floyd. B3 t MissM. E. Braddon 20 

75 Twent3* Years After. B3' Dumas... 20 

76 Wife iii Name OnR’. B3 T the Author of 

“ Dora Thorne ” . 20 

77 A Tale of Two Cities. By Dickens. . . . 20 

78 Madcap Violet. By William Black. 20 

79 Wedded and Parted. B3’ the Author 

of “ Dora Thorne ” .j 10 

, --80 June. By Mrs. Forrester. .;. : 20 

8J A Daughter of Heth. By Wm. Black. 20 

82 Sealed Lips. B3‘ F. Du Boisgobe3'. . . 20 

83 A Strange Story. Bulwer Lytton 20 

84 Hard Times. B3' Charles Dickens. . . 20 

85 A Sea Queen. B3' W. Clark Russell.. 20 

86 Belinda. By Rlioda Broughton 20 

Dick Sand; or, A Captain at Fifteen. 

By Jules Verne 20 

The Privateersman. Captain Marryat 20 
The Red Eric. B3 t R. M. Ballantyne. 10 
Ernest Maltravers. Bulwer Lytton . . 20 
Barnaby Rudge. B3 r Charles Dickens. 30 
Lord Lynne’s Choice. By the Author 
— of “ Dora Thorne ” 20 

93 Anthon3' Trollope's Autobiography.. 20 

94 Little Dorrit. By Charles Dickens. . . 30 

95 The Fire Brigade. R. M. Ballantyne 10 

96 Erling the Bold. B3 r R. M. Ballantyne 10 

97 All in a Garden Fair. Walter Besant.. 20 

98 A Woman-Hater. By Charles Reade. 20 
-99 Barbara’s History. A. B. Edwards. . . 20 
100 20,000 Leagues Under the Seas. Bv- 

Jules Verne ’. 20 

.'301 Second Thoughts. Rhoda Broughton 20 

102 The Moonstone. By Wilkie Collins.. . 30 

103 Rose Fleming. By Dora Russell 10 

104 The Coral Pin. B3- F. Du Boisgobe3 r . 30 

105 A Noble Wife. By John Saunders 20 

106 Bleak House. By Charles Dickeus. . . 40 

107 Dombey and Sou. Charles Dickeus. . 40 

108 The Cricket on the Hearth, and Doctor 

Marigold. B3' Charles Dickens. .. . 10 

109 Little. Loo. B3* W. Clark Russell 20 

1 10 Under the Red Flag. By Miss Braddon 10 

111 The Little School-Master Marki By 

J. H. Shorthouse 10 

112 The Waters of Marah. By John Hill 20 
011 Third Page of Cover.) 


87 

88 
89 

k$o 

91 

92 


The Master of the Forg 



From the French of Georges Oh net. 

■ \ 


13 v J. Y. P. 

1 



NEW YORK: 

GEORGE MUNRO, PUBLISHER, 

17 to 27 Vandewater Street. 



Entered according to Act of Congress , in the year 1884, by 
GEORGE MUNRO 

in the office of the Librarian, of Congress, Washington, D. C. 


* 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES, 


i 

• CHAPTER 1. 

On a bright day in October, 1880, a young man in elegant hunt- 
ing costume was seated on the border of one of the beautiful oak 
woods whose cool shades overspread the first slopes of the Jura. A 
large chestnut spaniel lay on the heather a few paces from his mas- 
ter, his watchful eyes fastened on him as if waiting for the signal 
to be off again. 

But the huntsman seemed in no mood to renew the chase. He 
had rested his gun against the trunk of a tree, flung his empty 
game-bag to the other side of the ditch, and with his back turned to 
the sun, his chin resting on his' hand, his eyes wandered over the 
beautiful panorama which lay before him. 

Across the road by which he had stopped the wood was skirted 
by a young coppice whose thinly scattered clusters rose like islets 
of verdure from the midst of ferns and yellow grasses. Through 
the trees of the woodland as it sloped gently to the valley below 
could be caught glimpses of the town of Pont-Avesnes, the slate- 
colored bell-tower of the old church rising conically above its red 
roofs. To the right, the chateau, surrounded by large trenches well 
drained and planted with fruit trees. The Avesnes, a streamlet am- 
bitiously styled by the inhabitants “ the river,” gleamed like a silver 
ribbon through the willows whose trembling foliage drooped over its 
banks. Further on, a fiery smoke was spitting from the tall fur- 
naces of the manufactory which stretched out its black walls at the 
foot of the hill, with its stratum of rock pierced with holes for the 
extraction of the ore. Above these excavations grew vines yielding 
a white wine with a flavor of gunflint, commonly sold under the 
name of mn de Moselle. The sky, of a pale blue, was flooded with 
light, while a transparent mist floated like a thin veil over the 
heights. Profound peace reigned throughout the smiling landscape. 
Through the clear atmosphere the muffled sound of the hammers at 
the forge ascended to the forest from the valley below. 

The young huntsman remained motionless, subdued as it were by 
the stillness. Gradually the landscape faded from his view, a feel- 
ing of profound serenity stole over him, and his thoughts began to 
wander with delicious vagueness over a misty past. The sun gilded 
the forest tops, a tranquilizing warmth rose from the heather; the 
silence of the woods grew more profound. 

He was roused suddenly from his reverie by a cold nose which 


4 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


rested on his knees, and a pair of eyes, human in their gaze, looked 
up at him in mute appeal. 

“Ah! you are tired of waiting, old fellow! Come, don’t be impa- 
tient, we are going.” 

And drawing a long breath, he rose, replaced his game-bag in his 
belt, passed his gun under his arm, and crossing the road leaped a 
small ditch and entered the coppice. The dog was already beating 
down the tall grass. Suddenly he stopped beside a thicket with his 
paw lifted, his head bent upward motionless, as if turned to stone, 
shaking his tail softly with an appealing look at his master. The 
latter made one or two hasty steps and in the same inslant a hare 
darted from its cover and sped away like a ball. The young man 
aimed his gun and tired quickly, but when the smoke cleared away 
he was more vexed than surprised to discover that h^hare had van- 
ished into the woods. 

“ Another miss!” he muttered. And turning to the spaniel who 
stood waiting for him with an air of resignation: “ It was too bad, 
wasn’t it? You pointed so well.” 

At the same moment another shot was heard a hundred metres off, 
and in a second more the sound of a footstep. The branches were 
put aside and a stalwart youth in a blue linen hunting-blouse, large 
boots, and an old slouch hat appeared at the edge of the wood, a gun 
in one hand, and in the other the hare that had just darted from its 
retreat. 

“ Your luck has been better than mine it appears,” said the young 
huntsman, smilingly, advancing toward the new-comer. 

‘ ‘ Ah ! it was you then who fired, ’ ’ said the youth in the blouse. 

“ Yes, and awkwardly enough, for the animal started before my 
eyes, and 1 fired at twenty paces distance.” 

“ It was not brilliant, truly,” said the young man, with a shade 
of irony; “ but how happens it, monsieur, that you hunt in this part 
of the woods?” 

“ Why,” said the young man in some surprise, “ because I have 
the right, as 1 think—” 

“ I think not, monsieur; these are the woods of Monsieur Derblay, 
who permits no one to set foot in them. ’ ’ 

“ Ah! the iron-master of Pont- Avesnes, ” resumed the young man, 
haughtily. “ If I have trespassed on his grounds it was ignorantly, 
and I regret it. You are doubtless Monsieur Derblay’s guard?” 

“ And who are you, may 1 ask?” said the young man in the blouse, 
without replying to the question. 

“lam the Marquis de Beaulieu, and 1 beg you to believe that it 
is not my habit to poach.” 

The man in the blouse reddened and bowed deferentially. 

“ Pardon me. Monsieur the Marquis. Had I known who you are 
1 should not have demanded explanations. Continue your hunt I 
beg.” 

While his interlocutor was speaking, the young huntsman had 
observed him more attentively He was a good-looking youth 
despite his rustic attire. His face, framed in a black beard, was 
handsome and intelligent, his hands shapely and well cared for, and 
the gun suspended from bis shoulder was of a rich simplicity that 
could have been the work only of an English gunsmith. 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. , 5 

“Thank you,” replied the marquis, coldly. “1 have not the 
honor to know Monsieur Derblay save as a troublesome neighbor 
with whom we are on no good terms, and I shall be careful to avoid 
firing another shot on his grounds. I reached Beaulieu only yester- 
day, am not yet familiar with the country, and my love of sport has 
enticed me beyond our limits. It shall not occur again. ” 

‘ ‘ As you please, monsieur, ' ’ said the man in the blouse gently. ‘ * But 
1 will answer for Monsieur Derblay that he would have been happy 
in this instance to prove that it is not his wish to be a troublesome 
neighbor. If he has encroached on Beaulieu with his mining rail- 
way, he is ready to make any amends for it. The boundaries be- 
tween neighbors are often uncertain as you have occasion to know,” 
he added, with a smile. “ Do not judge Monsieur Derblay till you 
know him. ” 

“You are a friend of the iron master?” said the marquis, look- 
ing at him, “ an employe perhaps, for you defend him with a 
warmth — ’ ’ 

“ Which is quite natural, be assured.” And changing the sub- 
ject: “ But you have been unlucky it appears both at Beaulieu and at 
Pont-Avesnes. Monsieur Derblay has much pride in his hunting- 
grounds, and would regret to have you take leave of them empty- 
handed. Do me the favor to accept this hare which you were so 
kind as to beat up, together with these four partridges.” 

“ I cannot,” replied the marquis, quickly; “ do not insist, I beg.” 

“ 1 must insist, at the risk of displeasing you. I leave them on 
the other side of the ditch, you may abandon them to the foxes if 
you will. I have the honor to bid you good-day, Monsieur the Mar- 
quis.” 

And with one stride he re-entered the wood and moved off rapidly. 

“Monsieur!” cried the marquis. But the huntsman was already 
out of sight. 

“ This is a singular adventure,” muttered the marquis; “ what am 
1 to do?” 

His perplexities were put an end to by an unexpected intervention. 
The spaniel had gone to the ditch, and taking a partridge carefully 
in his mouth, brought it to his master. 

“ You do not want us to return with an empty bag, do you?” said 
the marquis, laughing and caressing the dog. 

And placing the hare and the four partridges in his game-bag, 
with a step less active from the unaccustomed weight, the young 
man set out homeward. 

The Chateau of Beaulieu was a white stone building in Louis 
Thirteenth style, consisting of a main building and two wings; the 
pointed roofs of the wings surmounted with sculptured chimneys. 
Along its front extended a terrace five hundred metres in length, 
arranged in flower plots to which descended a flight of steps forming 
a grotto beneath. Festoons of flowering vines intertwined with the 
wTought iron balustrade offered to the hand a perfumed support. 
This terrace exposed to the midday sun furnished towajrl the end of 
the season a delightful promenade. The hill on wiiich the chateau 
w r a.s built, facing the vineyards and quarries of Pont-Avesnes was 
encircled with a park sixty acres -in extent, descending in a gentle 
slttpc to the valley. M. Derbtay’s manufactory had marred a little 


6 * THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 

the beauty of the landscape and its peaceful repose, but the habita- 
tion was still one of the most enviable. 

Nevertheless it had remained for long years unoccupied. The 
Marquis de Beaulieu, father of the young huntsman coming at the 
age of twenty into possession of a splendid fortune, entered upon a 
dashing life in Paris. He passed, however, three months during 
the hunting season at Beaulieu, when his sumptuous prodigality 
served to enrich the country for the remainder of the year. 

During the Revolution of 1848, the vine-growers of Pont-Avesnes 
had lecompensed the marquis’ bounty by plundering the chateau. 
Armed with scythes and pitchforks and shouting the Marseillaise 
they forced the gate— which the concierge obstinately refused to 
open to them — destroying what they could not carry away. Some 
of the well informed among them finding their way to the cellars, 
they passed from pillage to feasting. The marquis’ wines were 
choice, and the vine-growers were connoisseurs. With intoxication 
they returned to violence, and scattering through the carefully 
tended conservatories, the brutes set to trampling down the flowers 
and destroying the marble vases. A handsome Flore de Pradier 
stood on a pedestal, above a mass of verdure, with a cascade empty- 
ing into a stone-basin at its feet. A madman was about to gash the 
lovely features with his scythe when the most drunken among them 
with a sudden access of sensibility planted himself in front of the 
chef d’oeuvre, declaring himself a friend to the arts, and threatening 
to plant his pitchfork in the first person who should touch the statue. 
Ihe Flore was saved, but to make amends a young poplar was up- 
rooted, ornamented with red rags, and planted in the middle of the 
terrace. After which they returned to the town, shouting, and 
continuing their revolutionary orgies till night. The next morning 
a brigade of gendarmerie arrived and order was quickly restored. 

On learning the news of this demonstration the marquis at 
first laughed. Since he had loaded Pont-Avesnes with his benefits 
it was quite natural they should seek to do him harm. He lost his 
equanimity only upon being told of the tree of liberty. This was 
carrying a joke beyond all bounds. lie sent an order to his gardener 
to uproot the young poplar, cut it in pieces, and send it to Paris for 
his special burning. He sent five hundred francs to the drunken 
friend of chefs d’ceuvres, and at the same time an assurance to the 
inhabitants of Pont-Avesnes, that he should revenge himself by 
never again setting foot at Beaulieu. 

This quarantining of himself was equivalent to a loss of at least 
twenty thousand francs a year to the town. Attempts were made to 
approach him through its mayor, and a petition was signed by the 
municipal council, but all in vain. The marquis would not 
forgive the tree of liberty, and the chateau of Beaulieu remained 
closed. 

The seductions of Parisian life had, however, their share in the 
marquis’ resolution; clubs, theaters, the turf, and gallantry de- 
tained him more surely from Beaulieu than the rancor which he 
cherished against his countrymen. But at the end of a few years of 
this life of excitement, the marquis began to weaiy of it all, and 
in a moment of seriousness he married. 

His young wife, daughter of. the Duke de Bligny, adored 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


7 

him and shut her eyes to his shortcomings. He was in fact 
a charming prodigal witli hand and heart always open; incapable 
of resisting a wish of his wife’s but capable of making her die of 
grief, to be atoned for by lamenting her bitterly. When the mar- 
chioness upbraided bim for some outrageous folly, he would kiss her 
hand and say with tears in his eyes; “ You are a saint;” and the 
next day begin again. 

The honeymoon of the young pair lasted three years ; very virtu- 
ous in a man like the marquis. Two children were born, a son and 
daughter, and grew up by their mother’s side; Octave, the image of 
his mother, with her gentleness and gayety ; Claire, with the impetu- 
ous, ardent temperament of her father. Education may control and 
discipline but it cannot change nature. Octave had matured into 
the amiable young man, Claire into the proud stately girl, of whom 
they had given promise. 

Grief and misfortune brought them a companion. The Duke de 
Bligny, a widower, with an only son, having been killed by means 
of a runaway horse on a racing ground, the young Gaston left 
an orphan, with an impaired fortune, was conveyed after the funeral 
to his aunt’s the marchioness, and remaining with her grew up be- 
side Octave and Claire. Older than they, he exhibited already the 
charm and elegance of an aristocratic race. But the life of dissipa- 
tion which his father had led had left him little leisure to watch 
over his son, and abandoned to the care of servants, initiated by them 
into their low intrigues, and sometimes accompanying his father to 
his parties of pleasure, the child’s innocence had been put to a 
severe trial. A feeble boy of a melancholy temperament when 
brought to the Beaulieu hotel, in the atmosphere of this family life 
he had recovered the graces and freshness of youth. 

At the age of nineteen he began to perceive that his cousin Claire, 
his junior by four years, was no longer a child. Like a butterfly 
emerging from its chrysalis she had suddenly expanded in all the 
radiance of her blonde beauty. And Gaston loved her, but his secret 
he kept shut up in his own breast. A time of mourning betrayed it. 

The Marquis de Beaulieu died suddenly, disappearing quietly from 
life d Vanglaise ; that is to say he was not ill, he simply ceased to 
live. He was found lying in his working cabinet, where he had 
been in the act of turning over a file of papers relating to a lawsuit 
in which he had engaged with some English collaterals. The un- 
accustomed work had not agreed with him. 

The physicians pronounced the cause of the marquis’ death to 
be the rupture of an artery. His club friends shook their heads and 
whispered among themselves that he had, like many, paid the debt of 
the fast life be had led. Others believed that revelations made to 
this splendid spendthrift by his man of business had killed him not 
less certainly than if they had lodged a bullet in his breast. 

The family of the marquis were too much absorbed in grieving 
over his death to concern themselves as to its cause. M. de Beaulieu 
was loved and respected as though he had been a model father and 
husband. The marchioness placed her household in mourning and 
celebrated his funeral with princely obsequies. Octave, now Mar- 
quis de Beaulieu, and the Duke de Bligny, his adopted brother, the 
chief mourners, were attended on the occasion by the oldest nobility 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


8 

of France. On their return to the silent gloomy mansion where 
Octave and Claire awaited them, the marchioness shut herself in 
her chamber with Octane to talk over their future, while Gaston 
accompanied Claire to the garden. 

It was a beautiful summer evening. The shadows were deepen- 
ing under the great trees and the air was laden with perfume. They 
walked slowly and in silence around the greensward, absorbed in 
their own thoughts, till with one accord they sunk on a stone bench 
where a jet of water was singing in a marble basin at their feet, 
lulling them to deeper reverie. Gaston suddenly broke the silence; 
he told Claire in rapid words of his grief in the loss of the man who 
j had been a father to him, and letting his head drop on her hot hands 
1 exclaimed : 

“ I can never forget what your family have been to me. What- 
ever happens, you will find me always at your side, 1 love you so.” 
And he repeated between his sobs: “ 1 love you! I love you!” 

Claire raised Gaston’s head gently, blushing and embarrassed, and 
said, smiling softly: 

“ 1 too love you!” 

She placed her hands on his mouth and touched his brow lightly 
with her lips as if solemnly to seal their betrothal. Then they re- 
sumed their walk without a word spoken, listening only to the voice 
of their own hearts. 

The next day Octave de Beaulieu began liis law studies, and Gas- 
ton entered the ministiy of foreign affairs. The republican govern- 
ment was then seeking to attach to itself the great names of the aris- 
tocracy in order to reassure Europe, which observed the democracy 
triumphing with anxious eyes. The young duke was given a place 
in the cabinet of M. Decazes, and his diplomatic career promised to 
be brilliant. His elegant bearing, handsome face, and charming con- 
versation, made him a sensation in the society into which he now 
found himself launched; but he remained indifferent to all but 
Claire, his best evenings being those that he passed in his aunt’s 
little salon looking at his cousin as she bent over her embroidery, 
devouring in silence the wanton curls that grazed her neck, gleam- 
ing golden in the light, and which he could have kissed devoutly. 
At ten o’clock he took leave of the marchioness, pressed Claire’s 
hand fraternally, and went out into the gay world to dance till morn- 
ing. 

When summer time came, the family took flight into Normandy 
to an estate belonging to the marchioness, for, faithful to her hus- 
band’s prejudice, they had not returned to Beaulieu. Here Gaston 
was perfectly happy, scouring the woods on horseback with Octave 
and Claire, exhilarated by the pure air, while the marchioness em- 
ployed her time examining the family archives to discover new 
papers relating to the English suit. 

The question was of a large sum bequeathed by will to the mar- 
quis which the English heirs had contested, and the solicitors for the 
two parties had entered the case like rats in a cheese, making profit 
for themselves by prolonging hostilities. The suit, begun by the 
marquis from self-love, had been continued by his widow from self- 
interest, for the Marquis de Beaulieu’s fortune had been seriously 
impaired by his follies, and the English estate represented the most 


■»«„ tu- aster OF THE FOKGES. ft 

available portion of the patrimony of the two children. The prop- 
erty of the marchioness, though it was handsome, answered only 
their common needs. Mme. de Beaulieu entertained no doubt of the 
issue of the contest, and Claire, it was believed, would bring a dowry 
of two millions to the man who should be fortunate enough to 
please her. 

Meanwhile the duke was appointed secretary to the embassy at 
St. Petersburg, and the marriage was arranged to take place dur- 
ing his first leave of absence, it happened at the end of six months. 
The duke came to Paris, but for a week only, charged with a mis- 
sion which his embassador was unwilling to trust to the hazard of 
writing. 

A week! Could any one marry in a week? There was not even 
time for the bans to be regularly published. The duke’s manner 
was tender, but there was a shade of levity which contrasted with 
his former earnestness. 

During his absence, Gaston had frequented Russian society, the 
most corrupt in the world, and had brought back certain ideas of his 
own on the subject of love. The expression of his face even had 
changed; his features had grown harder, and traces of dissipation 
were visible on his formerly pure brow. Claire did not, or would 
not, see these changes in the man to whom she had pledged her 
troth. She trusted him, and waited. His letters became less fre- 
quent, though filled always with passionate protestations. He 
suffered cruelly at the postponement of his happiness, but he said 
nothing of his return, and two years had now elapsed. 

Mme. de Beaulieu’s salons had been closed during these two win- 
ters at the request of Claire, who wished to rid herself thus of suit- 
ors who would not be discouraged. Octave continued his law 
studies, while Mme. de Beaulieu was buried deeper and deeper in 
the papers relating to her interminable suit. 

When the spring came, a caprice seized Claire to visit the estate 
of Beaulieu, which her father had placed under interdict during his 
life, and the marchioness, incapable of denying her daughter, and 
wishing also to divert her mind, consented. And so it came about 
that on a beautiful October day the young marquis, who had just 
taken his degree, had been encountered with his gun on his shoul- 
der, and accompanied by his faithful spaniel in M. Derblay’s woods. 


CHAPTER II. 

While the young marquis was returning heavily laden to the 
chateau, Mme. de Beaulieu and Claire were seated in the large salon 
enjoying the close of the beautiful summer’s day. Through the 
large glass doors op3ning on the flight of steps, the sunshine streamed 
in floods, lighting up the burnished gold frames from which looked 
out ancestors in ceremonial dress, smiling or grave. A low, broad 
screen in Genoa velvet encircled the easy-chair where sat the- mar- 
chioness, busily engaged in knitting hoods for the village children. 

31 me. de Beaulieu had passed her fortieth .year. Her grave, gen- 
tle face was crowned with hair that, already nearly white, imparted 
to her an air of nobility; her dark, melancholy eyes seemed still 


&0 THE MASTER" OF THE FORGES, 

<*-»% bccixk wars. She was fragile and delicate, and though 
the day was warm, had taken the precaution to spread over her 
knees a large shawl to protect the little feet on which, with a persist- 
ent coquetry she still wore thin black satin slippers. 

Buried in a large arm-chair, with her head leaning on its tapes- 
tried back, and hands hanging idly by her side, Claire’s eyes were 
riveted on the horizon before her, but she did not see it. ” For an 
hour she had sat there motionless and silent, with the sunshine 
lighting up her hair with an aureola like the halo around the Vir- 
gin. For some minutes past her mother had been observing her 
anxiously. To rouse her attention she moved the basket containing 
the balls of worsted, accompanying the movement with a signifi- 
cant “ hem! hem!’' But insensible to these indirect appeals, Claire 
still sat lost in thought. The marchioness, vexed, laid aside her 
work, and raising herself in her chair said in a somewhat chiding 
tone: 

“ Claire!” 

Mile, de Beaulieu closed her eyes as if to bid adieu to her dream, 
and without a movement of her head, merely raising her beautiful 
white hands to the arms of her chair: 

“ Well, mother?” she replied. 

“ What are you thinking about?” 

Claire’s brow clouded, and for a moment she made no reply. 
Then with an effort over herself she said, quietly : 

“ Of nothing. The warm day stupefied me. Why did you call 
me?” 

“ To try to rouse you from your reverie and induce you to speak 
to me,” said the marchioness, with a shade of affectionate reproach 
in her voice. 

There was a pause. Claire had resumed her listless attitude; the 
marchioness bent forward and threw aside her shawl, regardless of 
the fresh air. Mile, de Beaulieu turned toward her a sad, beautiful 
face. 

“ How long is it since we have heard from St. Petersburg?” she 
asked as though putting her thoughts in words. 

“ About tw r o months.” 

“ Two months, yes!” repeated Claire with a sigh. 

Ttftr marchioness lost patience. “ Why will you torment yourself 
with such thoughts?” 

“ What would you have me think of if not of my betrothed? and 
how can I help tormenting myself, as you say, to divine the cause 
of his absence?” 

“ It is unaccountable, it must be confessed,” said the marchion- 
ess, “ he promised to return this winter — first political complications 
detained him, then, the winter being ended, he would wait for sum- 
mer. Summer has come, but not the duke; here is autumn, and Gas 
ton ceases even to invent pretexts for his absence. Admitting that 
it is simply negligence, it is unpardonable. The times are. degener 
ate, the men of our rank have even forgotten to be polite.” 

And the marchioness raised her white head which made her look 
so like the powdered ladies that smiled from their handsome frames 
around the wall. 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


11 

c< But if he should be ill?” ventured Claire with an impulse to 
defend the man she loved, “ if he should have been unable' to write. ” 

“ It is inadmissible.” replied the marchioness pitilessly, “ the em- 
bassy would have notified us. * Rest assured he is perfectly well and 
gay, and has been leading the cotillon in fashionable Russian society 
all winter.” 

Claire’s face contracted painfully. She turned pale as if all the 
blood in her veins had rushed to her heart. Then forcing a smile : 

_ “He promised to pass the winter in Paris, and 1 had drawn de- 
lightful pictures to myself of triumphing in his success, while he 
too might have perceived mine. It must be owned that he is free 
from jealousy, though there might be thought to be some cause for 
it. Even here in this desert of Beaulieu, there is this iron-master, 
who last Sunday at mass — you were too pious to remark it — but 1 
was reading my prayers when, without knowing why, I felt embar- 
rassed. Something stronger than my will drew my attention. I 
turned and saw Monsieur Derblay in the shadow of an altar.” 

“ He was praying.” 

“ No, he was looking at me. Our eyes met, and he seemed to be 
making to me a silent entreaty. I dropped my head resolving not 
to turn again in that direction. When I left the church he was wait- 
ing in the porch. He did not venture to offer me the holy-water, 
but bowed profoundy, and when we passed out, 1 felt his gaze 
following me. it seems it was the first time he has been seen at 
mass this year. ’ ’ 

“Ah well, that will count something toward the safety of his 
soul. But instead of rolling his eyes at you he had better be trying 
to make reparations to us for his encroachments — and you must be 
sadly at a loss to be occupying yourself with the sighs of this iron- 
beater, who will deafen us one of these days with his hammers.” 

“ Monsieur Derblay’s homage was respectful; 1 have no cause to 
complain of it. 1 only spoke of the iron-master among others. The 
heart of woman is inconstant, they say ; the duke is not here to de- 
fend his own, and I might weary of this role of Penelope. Gaston 
ought to say this much to himself, but he does not, while 1 remain 
here — patient, f aithf ul — ’ ’ 

“ And you are wrong,” exclaimed the marchioness with vivacity, 
“ were I in your place — ” 

“No, mother,” interrupted Mile, de Beaulieu with gravity, “1 
am not wrong, for I love the Duke de Bligny. ” 

“You love him!” said the marchioness with ill-concealed irrita- 
tion, “how you exaggerate! Gaston and you have grown up 
together, and you thought this life in common must never end, that 
you could not be happy without him, foolish child that you are! 
You are deceived in the duke; he is light, frivolous; he has habits 
of independence that are incorrigible, and 1 foresee disappointment 
for you. I could not see you married to him without grave con- 
cern.” 

Claire’s face flushed, and they looked at each other in silence. 
Then Mile, de Beaulieu said, in a voice that quivered : 

‘ ‘ Mother, you have never spoken so before. Is there a cause for 
the duke’s absence which you have been hiding from me? Have 
you learned anything?” 


12 THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 

Mme. de Beaulieu was frightened at the vehemence of her daugh- 
ter’s emotion. She perceived for the first time the depth and reality 
of her attachment, and recognized that she had gone too far. 

“No, my child, I know nothing; I have heard nothing,” she said; 
“ niy nephew’s prolonged silence astonishes me, that is all ; indeed 1 
think he is much too deeply engrossed in diplomacy.” 

Claire was reassured, ller mother’s spirited attack proceeded 
simply from a dissatisfaction which she could not hut acknowledge 
to be well grounded; and recovering her serenity : 

“ A little more patience, mother,” she said. ” The duke thinks 
of us, I am sure, and will surprise us one of these days by arriving 
unexpectedly.” 

“ I hope so, since you wish it. At all events, my nephew De 
Prefont and his wife will be here to-day from Paris, and they, per- 
haps, will be better informed than we are.” 

“ Here comes Octave through the terrace with Maitre Bachelin,” 
said Mile, de Beaulieu, risirikg quickly, anxious to escape from a 
painful conversation. 

She quitted the salon and went out into the bright sunlight. She 
was twenty-two, and in the full splendoi of womanly beauty, with a 
tall, elegant figure and superb shoulders, ending in hands befitting 
a queen. 

Her coil of golden hair, knotted high, revealed a neck of rosy 
whiteness. As she leaned lightly forward, resting her hands on the 
iron balustrade while she mechanically stripped the leaves from one 
of its twining plants, she was the impersonation of the grace and 
vigor of youth. Mme. de Beaulieu’s eyes rested on her in admira- 
tion, then she shook her head and heaved a sigh. 

The steps of the new-comers sounded distinctly on the terrace, 
and a confused noise of voices reached the salon. 

Maitre Bachelin was a little man of about sixty: with a rotund 
figure, a red, scrupulously shaven face, white hair, and dressed in 
black with a suspicion of ruffles on his wrists, he was a type of the 
notary of the old regime. He was warmly attached to his noble 
clients, saying “ Madame the Marchioness ” with pious unction, and 
sustaining the interests of the Beaulieu family by hereditary right, 
for the Bachelins were, by birth, notaries to the aristocracy of the 
country. The last of these public functionaries preserved with 
pride some charters of the time of Louis XI. with the rough feudal 
signature of the Marquis Honore Onfroy, Jacques Octave, and the 
flourishing autograph of Maitre Joseph Antoine Bachelin, royal 
notary. 

The return of the Beaulieu family to the chateau had been an oc- 
casion of great joy to the good man. He had grieved at the absence 
of his noble clients, and begun to indulge a hope that every summer 
would now see them at Beaulieu. Jealous of his skill, he offered 
his aid to assist in disentangling the perplexed threads of the En- 
glish suit, and had in a month and a halt done more work than had 
been done by all the solicitors of the Beaulieu family in two years. 
The marchioness was delighted to have secured his services in spite 
of his gloomy prognostications as to the probable result of the con- 
test, and recognizing in him one of these devoted servants who are 
entitled to be raised to the rank of friends, treated him accordingly. 


THE MA.STER OF THE FORGES. 


13 


Maitre Bachelin had, on liis way to the chateau, encountered the 
young marquis at the park gate, and insisting on relieving him of a 
part of his burden, had taken from him his gun, which he carried 
on his left arm, while he hugged closely with his right a volumi- 
nous leather case stuffed with papers. 

“ Ah! you have more there than you can carry, my poor Mon- 
sieur Bachelin,” said Claire to the notary, who was ascending the 
stairs with precipitation, trying to take off his hat and going 
through the motions of ceremonious bowing. 

“ Accept my humble respects, mademoiselle. 1 represent in my 
-person, as you see, the attributes of law and of force, with the code 
in one hand and gun in the other. But the gun is in the left — cedant 
armatogce! A thousand pardons ; you do not perhaps understand 
Latin, and 1 am simply a pedant.” 

“My sister understands that Latin at least,” said the marquis 
laughing, “ and you are the best of men. Let me take my gun 
from you, and thanks.” 

And resuming his weapon, he followed the notary up the stairs. 

“You have had a fine hunt it appears,’’ said Mile, de Beaulieu, 
stopping her brother at the door and lifting the game-bag which 
hung from his shoulder. 

6' 1 shall be modest, and not deck myself in false plumes ; the 
game was not killed by me. ’ ’ 

“ By wdiom then?” 

“I do not know.” And seeing his sister’s surprise: “Only 
think, 1 strayed into the Pont-Avesnes grounds where 1 met 
another huntsman, who inquired quite sharply who 1 was, but no 
sooner did he hear my name than he became conciliatory, even 
gracious, and forced upon me the contents of this bag.” 

“ What was the huntsman like?” asked Bachelin. 

“ A tall dark young man in an old gray felt and blouse.” 

“Ah! exactly,” said the notary in an undertone; “I think I 
can enlighten you. Monsieur the Marquis, concerning your mysteri- 
ous donor. It was Monsieur Derblay.” 

“ Monsieur Derblay! With a peasant’s blouse and slouch hat like 
a smuggler’s?” 

“ Bear in mind, Monsieur the Marquis, that we are rustic sports- 
men. 1, whom you see ordinarily decently clad, might frighten you 
if you encountered me in a corner of the woods in my hunting-dress. 
If Iliad not recognized Monsieur Derblay from your portrait, his 
courtesies would leave me no room for doubt.” 

‘ ‘ Indeed ! Then 1 have been courteous enough to tell him he 
was a very disagreeable neighbor. 1 must go to see him and apolo- 
gize.” 

‘ ‘ I think that is unnecessary, Monsieur the Marquis. If you will 
announce my visit to j^our mother, 1 will inform you, in her pres- 
ence, of certain facts that may serve to modify your opinion of Mon- 
sieur Derblay. ’ ’ 

“ Ma foi! 1 should like nothing better. He seems to be an excel- 
lent fellow,” said Octave, as he removed his hunting gear. He 
entered the salon and kissing Mme. de Beaulieu’s hand respectfully, 
said : 

“ Maitre Bachelin wishes to see you, mother.” 


14 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


“ Why does lie not come in?” said tlie marchioness. “ 1 have 
heard you prattling on the stairs for ten minutes. Good-morning, 
Monsieur Baclielin,” and as the notary was engaged in bowing as 
low as his corpulent person would permit, do you bring me good 
news?” she added. 

Bachelin’s smiling face assumed an expression of seriousness. 

“1 bring news, yes, Madame the Marchioness.” And as if in 
haste to change the subject. “ I went this morning to Pont-Avesnes, 
and have seen Monsieur Derblay. The difficulties respecting your 
boundary lines are removed. My friend is ready to accept whatever 
conditions you may dictate.” 

“ In that case,” said Mme. de Beaulieu, with some embarrass- 
ment, “ we have no conditions to dictate. The matter will be sub- 
mitted to your arbitrament; whatever you do will be well done.” 

“ 'That is a resolution that gives me much pleasure. 1 am very 
desirous to see peace between the manufactory and the chateau. 
All we want is to sign the preliminaries, for which purpose Mon- 
sieur Derblay will present himself at the chateau with liis sister, 
Mademoiselle Suzanne, and offer his respects, if Madame the 
Marchioness will permit it.” 

“ Certainly, let him come. I am curious to see this Cyclops that 
blackens all the valley. But, 1 suppose it is not this treaty of pease 
only that swells your portfolio,” she added, pointing to the notary’s 
leather case. “ You bring new papers relative to the English suit, 
do you not?” 

‘‘Yes, Madame the Marchioness, with your permission, we 
will talk business.” 

He glanced toward the son and daughter. The marchioness 
understood, and experienced a vague uneasiness. What had her 
man of business to say to her that must be said with closed doors? 

“ Octave,” she said, turning to her son, “ see if the order has been 
given to meet your cousins at the station at live.” 

Claire looked up quickly. The meaning of the marchioness was 
evident, and the brother and sister withdrew, with a smile to their 
mother. The thought had suddenly presented itself to Mile, de 
Beaulieu that Bachelin brought news of the duke, and deeply agi- 
tated, conscious only of a confused tumult of ideas and feelings 
surging through her brain, while she was unable to fix one, she 
sauntered down the terrace and beneath the shades of the great trees. 

When the marchioness and the notaiy were left alone, the smiling 
expression which Bachelin had assumed gave place to a look of 
thoughtful gravity. Mme. de JBeaulieu remained silent for a mo- 
ment, as though unwilling to part with her quiet of mind until the 
last moment. 

“ Well, my dear Bachelin,” she said, after a pause, “ what news 
do you bring me?” 

The notary shook his white head sadly. 

“ Nothing good, Madame the Marchioness. The winning of 
the late marquis’ suit has become a matter of grave doubt.” 

“ You are not telling me the whole truth, Bachelin; you would 
not have this dejected air if there were the least ray of hope. Have 
the English courts decided? have we lost?” 

The notary could not summon courage to reply, but he made a 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES, 


15 


significant gesture. The marchioness bit her lips, tears gathered in 
her eyes, while Bachelin, forgetting himself, began pacing the 
room with hasty strides, gesticulating as though he had been study- 
ing an affair of business in his own cabinet. 

‘ The case was mismanaged ! These attorneys are fools, and 
rapacious ! They write you a letter, so much — they read your reply, 
so much — If the marquis had applied to me for counsel — but he 
was in Paris. And he was ill advised by his attorneys— idiots, these 
Paris attorneys!” 

He paused suddenly, and striking his hands together: “ A sad 
blow this for the house of Beaulieu.” 

“ Terrible!” said the marchioness, “ it is the ruin of my son and 
daughter. It would take not less than ten years of economy to re- 
establish our finances. ’ ’ 

Bachelin had recovered his composure, and now stood in an attent- 
ive attitude. The loss of the suit he knew to be irreparable. The 
carelessness of the marquis had given advantages to his opponents, 
and no appeal was possible. 

‘‘Misfortune seldom comes singly,” resumed the marchioness. 
“ You have other news for me, Bachelin; tell me all; what remains 
cannot be worse than this.” 

“ What remains appears to me less serious, Madame the 
Marchioness, but I fear that of the two misfortunes the loss of the 
money will affect you least seriously. ’ ’ 

“ You have tidings of the Duke de Bligny?” said the marchion- 
ess, turning pale. 

“ You charged me with inquiries respecting your nephew,” said 
this fervent adorer of the aristocracy, with a shade of disdain.# “ I 
have followed your instructions and here is what 1 have learned. 
The Duke de Bligny has been in Paris for six weeks.” 

“ Six weeks!” repeated the marchioness, confounded, ” and we 
have remained ignorant of it!” 

“ Your nephew has taken care that you should not know it.” 

“ And he does not come, knowing our reverse? For he knows it, 
does he not?” 

“ He was among the first to hear of it.” 

Mme. de Beaulieu made a gesture of grieved surprise. 

“ Ah! you are right, Bachelin, this is a more cruel blow than the 
loss of the money. The duke abandons us; he has not come and I 
feel a presentiment that he will not. What he wanted was our 
money, and the fortune gone, the lover vanishes. Money is the 
vatchword of this venial, grasping epoch. Beauty, virtue, intelli- 
gence, count for nothing. "Now that we are almost poor no one will 
rtcognize us.” 

Bachelin had listened calmly to this outburst of the outraged 
mother, unable to disguise a secret satisfaction. His face became 
ve*y red, and mechanically he rubbed his hands behind his back. 

‘ I think you are unjust to our epoch, Madame the Marchioness; 
practical ideas govern it, it is true, and the natural cupidity of the 
Inman race has made notable progress; but we must not condemn 
all our contemporaries in one breath. There are men left who are 
disinterested enough to prize a woman for her beauty, virtue and 


16 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES, 


intelligence. I do not say that 1 know many, but 1 know, at least, 
one.” 

“ What do you mean?” asked the marchioness. 

“ Simply that among my friends there is one who has not been 
able to see Mademoiselle de Beaulieu without being ardently in love 
with her. Knowing her engagement to the duke, he has remained 
silent; but now that she is free, if you authorize it, he will speak.” 

“You allude to Monsieur Derblay?” < 

“Yes, Madame the Marchioness,” said the notary, boldly. 

“ I was not ignorant of the sentiments with which my daughter 
has inspired the iron master, ’ ’ resumed the marchioness. ‘ ‘ He shows 
them only too plainly.” 

“Ah! because he loves Mademoiselle Claire and that sincerely,” 
resumed the notary, earnestly, “ but you do not as yet know enough 
of Monsieur Derblay to understand his worth.” 

“ I am aw r are that he is highly esteemed throughout the country. 
But are you, my dear Bachelin, connected with his family?” 

“ 1 was their father’s friend, and have know r Monsieur Philippe 
and his sister from their birth. My client has in my eyes but a 
single defect — that he spells his name in one word without an apos- 
trophe. But the family is an old one, and who knows? In the 
Devolution honest men pressed close together, letters may have done 
so too.” 

“ Let him keep his name as it is,” said the marchioness, sadly, 

“ he makes it honorable, and in these days that is enough. See the 
Duke de Bligny, who deserts Claire when her fortune is gone, whilst 
Monsieur Derblay seeks out a dowerless girl, and tell me which is 
the nobleman, the lord or the plebeian?” 

“ Monsieur Derblay would be most happy, madame, to hear you 
speak so. ’ ’ 

“ Do not repeat what 1 have said,” interrupted the marchioness, 
gravely. “Mademoiselle de Beaulieu accepts no one’s generosity, 
and knowing her as I do, 1 think it probable she will never marry. 
Pray Heaven that this double blow may find her strong and resigned. ” 

“Whatever happens, madame, remember that Monsieur Derblay 
would esteem himself the happiest of men were it permitted him to 
hope. He will wait, for he is not a man whose heart will change. 
Now if 1 may offer a word of advice, say nothing to Mademoiselle 
de Beaulieu. The Duke de Bligny may come to himself, and there 
is time enough to make her suffer.” 

“You are right. As for my son, I must acquaint him with our 
misfortune.” 

The marchioness opened the door and beckoned to Octave, who 
was seated on the ten-ace, patiently awaiting the close of the confer 
ence. 


“ Well,” he said, gayly, “is the meeting adjourned, or am 1 calM 
to take part in it?” 

“ 1 have serious and distressing news for you,” said the marchion- 
ess, gently. 

“ What is it?” he inquired, becoming immediately grave. 

“ Monsieur Bachelin has received definitenewsfromour represent- 
ative in England. ” 

“ Well,” he said, “ and the cause is lost?” /. 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 17 

“ You knew it, then?” said the marchioness, breathing more freely 
on seeing her son’s composure. 

” Not positively, but I have anticipated it. Though I have re- 
frained from discouraging; you, 1 have been satisfied that our case 
was indefensible. 1 have dreaded it on account of my sister, whose 
dowry was at stake, but there is a very simple method of settling 
that. You will give her the share of your fortune that you had re- 
served for me. 1 will take care of myself.” 

Mme. de Beaulieu flushed with pride as she turned to the notary: 

“ What right have 1 to complain with such a son?” 

“There is no merit in it,” said the marquis, with emotion. 

‘ 4 1 love my sister and would do anything to insure her happiness. 
And while we are on these melancholy topics, do you not think there 
is some connection between our cousin's silence and this lost suit?” 

“ You mistake, my dear boy,” sai il the marchioness, hastily, with 
a deprecating gesture, “ the Duke de Bligny — ” 

“Oh! you need have no fears,” interrupted Octave, with haughty 
disdain. “ If Gaston shrinks from keeping his engagement now that 
Mademoiselle de Beaulieu is not presented to him with a million in 
each hand, we are not the ones, I believe, to seize him by the collar 
and force him to respect his word. And if the Duke de Bligny does 
not marry my sister it will be in my opinion so much the worse for 
him, and so much the better for her.” 

“Well said, my son,” exclaimed the marchioness. 

“ Well said,” echoed Bachelin, “ and if Mademoiselle de Beaulieu 
is not rich enough to tempt a fortune-hunter, she is quite capable of 
winning a man who has heart.” 

The marchioness made a motion of silence to Bachelin, and the 
latter, happy to sec so favorably terminated a much-dreaded inter- 
view, made his adieus to his noble clients, and with all the speed 
of his old limbs, took the route to Pont-Avesnes. 


CHAPTER III. 

It was, as Bachelin had affirmed, M. Derblay, whom the Marquis 
de Beaulieu had encountered in the forest of Pont-Avesnes. Leav- 
ing Octave to call after him, he had hastened across the woods, heed- 
less of the lashing of branches or the tearing of thorns. He descended 
the slope with long strides, unconscious that he walked so fast as to 
cause the drops to stand on his brow. When the marquis should 
discover who he was — for he would end by discovering — he would 
be gratified by the courtesies of his disagreeable neighbor, and who 
could tell? an acquaintance might be the result. He would see the 
adorable Claire, he would speak to her. But at this thought a cloud 
passed before him. He fancied the words would suffocate him, and 
that he would stand before her silent and abashed. Then he would 
seek refuge in some obscure corner of the room where he might see 
her at his ease, and lose himself in the happiness of this contem- 
plation. 

Happiness! And why? Where could this insane idolatry lead 
except to witnessing more nearly her marriage with the Duke de 
Bligny? For that lie would return was certain. How could a man 


18 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


loved by such a woman be mad enough to disdain her? And if not 
the duke, it would be some other brilliant nobleman who had but to 
present his name to be cordially welcomed, while he, the plebeian, 
would be repulsed with cold disdain. 

He no longer ran toward Pont- Avesnes like a deer through the 
coppice, but walked slowly, mechanically plucking the leaves from 
their branches and crumpling them in his fingers. Then he paused, 
and leaning against the trunk of a tree, stood there, grave and pale. 
He passed his life in review, asking himself whether the work he 
had accomplished did not give him the right to be happy. After a 
brilliant college career and a successful course at the Polytechnic 
school, he had chosen the engineering business, and had just received 
his appointment, when war being declared, he had enlisted as a vol- 
unteer in the army of the Rhine. He had participated in the bloody 
reverse of Froeschwiller, and returned with the remains of the first 
army corps to the camp at Chalons. He had made the northern cam- 
paign with General Faideherbe, and, wounded at Saint Quentin, had 
passed six weeks in a hospital hovering between life and death, and 
had awakened from a long stupor to learn with a shudder that Paris 
was in the hands of the Commune. 

His state of convalescence saved him the sad duty of firing on the 
French, and he returned to his home, suffering from the effects of 
his wound, but bringing with him the cross of the Legion of Honor. 
A misfortune, greater than any he had yet experienced, awaited him 
there. He found his household mourning the loss of his mother, 
and his little sister deprived of her care at the age of seven. M. 
Derblay, engrossed in business affairs which demanded his constant 
attention, had been forced to abandon the little Suzanne to the care 
of servants, and deprived of the tenderness and affection which is 
more than material comfort in the life of children and of women, 
she clung to Philippe with passionate devotion. 

But it became necessary to part with Suzanne in order to resume 
his occupations. This separation, so grievous lor the child, was 
not, however, destined to prove of long duration. M. Derblay sud- 
denly sunk under the burden of his excessive cares, and Philippe 
and Suzanne were left alone in the world. 

New duties now devolved upon the young man. The winding 
up of his father’s affairs proved extremely complicated, and occa- 
sioned him many a painful surprise. M. Derblay, though a man of 
intelligence, had the serious defect of undertaking more than he 
could accomplish; expending his energies in a variety of directions 
and unable to bring all to a successful issue, the losses of one enter- 
prise absorbed the profits of another. He had surmounted, by dint 
of energy and skill, the host of difficulties with which he was con- 
stantly met, and had passed away before the catastrophe came, but 
leaving behind him the most entangled of inheritances. 

A splendid career was traced out for Philippe. He might aban- 
don for it his father’s enterprises, permitting all his resources to be 
applied to the saving of his name, but this would leave his sister 
penniless, and without hesitation he renounced his future, resigned 
this position, and assumed the burden under which his father had 
succumbed. 

A difficult task lay before him. M. Derblay’s inheritance com- 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


19 

prised glass works at Courtalin, a foundry in the Nivernais, slate- 
works in the Yar, and iron works at Pont-Avesnes. Philippe ap- 
plied himself to gathering together the scattered wrecks, and for six 
years his days, and a great portion of his nights, were dedicated to 
the work of rescue so courageously entered upon. All the ready 
money he could command was appropriated to setting matters to 
rights, and as he saw each enterprise in successful working-order he 
abandoned it, retaining only the forges w T hose great value he recog- 
nized. 

In seven years he had settled up his father’s estate, and now re- 
served only the foundry of the Nivernais, which he worked in con- 
junction with the factoiy at Pont-Avesnes. He was now master of 
his business, and in a position to enlarge it extensively. Idolized as 
he was throughout the couutry, might he not become a candidate 
for deputy? Would not this be a distinction to please a woman’s 
vanity? And were not the pursuits of industry themselves a power 
in this century of money? 

And little by little hope revived. Resuming his walk, he soon 
emerged from the woods. To his right was the meadow, covering 
the valley; to his ieft, the first layers of pierced rock at the foot of 
the hill, from which a little railway conveyed the ore directly to the 
manufactory. 

Roused suddenly from his meditations, the idea presented itself 
to him to glance at the works, and he took the road leading from 
the mine. Upon a small hillock stood a shelter appropriated to the 
foreman in charge. As he approached, he seemed to hear cries, and 
to observe an unusual stir at the entrance to the tunnel. The iron-* 
master quickened his pace, and in a few minutes was in a position 
to investigate for himself the cause of the disturbance. 

A landslide, occasioned by infiltrations of water, had taken place 
on the railroad, the cars had been overturned, and at the foot of the 
embankment the conductor of the train — a boy of fifteen — had been 
buried beneath a heap of sand and sunken timber. A few workmen 
and a number of managers arriving post-haste from the village were 
gathered together in animated talk, and in the midst of them a 
woman was gesticulating wildly. Philippe made his way into the 
group. 

“ What is the matter?” he inquired, anxiously. 

“ Ah! Monsieur Derblay,” said the woman, redoubling her cries 
at sight of the iron master, “ it is my poor boy, my little Jacques, 
who has been buried down there for three quarters of an hour.” 

“ And what has been done toward getting him out?” asked 
Philippe quickly, looking around on the miners. 

“We have cleared away the rubbish as well as we could, patron,” 
said the chief of the squad, pointing to a large excavation, “ but we 
are afraid to touch the timber any more. A false move might make 
it fall and crush the boy to atoms.” 

“ We heard him speak ten minutes ago,” cried the distracted 
mother, “ and now there is not a sound. My poor boy, and they 
are going to leave you there 1” 

And breaking forth into sobs the unhappy woman roiled over on 
the grass. 

Handing his gun to one of the bystanders, M. Derblay threw him- 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


20 

self full length on the ground, and with his head at the opening, 
below the intersecting timbers, listened. There was profound 
silence in the tomb of sand where the boy lay. 

“ Jacques!” he cried, his voice sounding hollow beneath the vault 
of wood and earth. “ Jacques, do you hear me?” 

A groan was the answer, and in another instant the words reached 
his ear, feebly and at intervals : 

‘‘Ah, patron, it is you! Ah! mon Dieu! if it is you I am 
saved!” 

This simple confidence touched Philippe, and he resolved to try 
the impossible to save him. 

“ Can you move?” he asked. 

“ No,” murmured the boy, “ and 1 believe my leg is broken.” 

“ Don’t be afraid my boy, we will get you out;” and rising, 
“ Take the props,” he said to the workmen, “ and raise the tim- 
ber,” pointing to a long beam forming a lever under the ruins. 

‘‘It can’t be done, patron,” resumed the foreman, “ eveiy thing 
would fall. There is only one way, for three or four men to creep 
through the hole we have made and try to extricate the boy, who 
can’t move — while the others lift the timber with the screw-jack. 
It is a risk, there are chances of not getting out again.” 

‘‘No matter, it must be done,” said the ironmaster resolutely, 
looking around on the workmen. As all were silent and motion- 
less, his face flushed. 

“ If one of you were down there, what would he think of liis 
comrades if they should leave him to his fate? Since no one will 
venture, 1 will go myself.” 

And bending his tall person, Philippe crept under the ruins. A 
cry of admiration and gratitude was raised by the crowd ; and as if 
his example was all that was needed to give these men their cour- 
age, three others entered after the iron-master, while the rest, unit- 
ing their strength, with superhuman exertions raised and supported 
the timbers. 

There w as silence, in which nothing could be heard but the sobs 
of the mother and the deep breathing of the rescuers bending be- 
neath the upheld weight. A few minutes like centuries passed, in 
wdiick the lives of five men hung jn the balance, then a shout of joy 
was raised. Covered with earth and with hands and shoulders torn 
the four men emerged, the last of whom — Philippe — bore in his 
arms the fainting boy. 

Then a tremendous crash resounded as the timbers fell again into 
the trench. The mother divided her demonstrations of joy between 
the iron-master and the child, while the crowed, deeply moved, gath- 
ered round the savior and the saved. 

“ Come, carry the boy home, and go for the doctor,” said M. 
Derblay gayly. And arranging his clothes and shouldering his gun 
he took the route to Pont-Avesnes. 

News of the rescue had quickly followed the report of the acci- 
dent. When he arrived opposite to the gate of the chateau he saw 
approaching his sister, accompanied by Uachelin. Suzanne quick- 
ened her step in perceiving her brother. She was seventeen, and 
had a bright young face which wore an expression of innocence and 
goodness, with a tender artless grace which, without regular beauty, 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 21 

made her irresistibly charming. As she opened her arms to throw 
them round her brother s neck : 

“ Don’t touch me!” he exclaimed, “ you will ruin your dress. 1 
am covered with mud.” 

“ Do 1 care for that?” she said, “ you have saved the boy. Oh! 
my Philippe, you are always where a good and noble act is to be 
done.” 

And the girl took the brown head in her hands and kissed it fond- 
ly. Bachelin, who had not been able to keep pace with her, ar- 
rived all out of breath. 

“ Another good deed to your account,” said the notary. 

“ Do not talk of it,” said Philippe, smiling, ‘‘it is not -worth the 
trouble. The most serious part of the business is, 1 believe, the 
boy is hurt. You had better go on as far as your pharmacy, Su- 
zanne, and if anything is needed, provide it.” 

“ 1 will, brother. Shall 1 take Brigitte?” 

“ Certainly. And now, my dear maitre, 1 must change my dress, 
for 1 look like a thief.” 

Suzanne turned toward the outbuildings of the chateau, while 
Philippe and the notary crossed the large court planted with old 
lindens, in the center of which a rectangular fountain shot upward, 
its gay jet falling again in fine cascades chased by the wind, and 
sparkling in the sunshine with iridescent light. This basin was 
the last remains of the waters that had formerly encircled the cha- 
teau. The Avesnes turned from its course had been diffused 
through the trenches by the former lords of Pont- Avesnes ; but in 
the reign of Louis XIII. a dam was constructed and the trenches 
emptied in the river. The mud in their bottom, mingled with a 
vegetable earth brought there at great expense, is the luxuriant soil 
in which flourish the fruit-trees which are the marvels of Pont- 
Avesnes. Peach and pear trees are there a century old, which bear 
fruit unrivaled in the land. These large trenches, whose walls 
serve as espaliers, are reservoirs in which the sun stores its rays, 
warm as a conservatory, and impenetrable to the winter wind. 

The chateau was built on a pile of brown sandstone, which raised 
it and gave it an imposing appearance. Its large slate roof stood 
out darkly against the sky. Philippe having confined himself to 
one wing of the vast cold building, the rest was closed, and but for 
Brigitte, Suzanne’s foster-sister, who in spite of her youth filled 
with efficiency the post of housekeeper, the chateau would have 
been abandoned. 

But the active Jura girl, infusing her energy into the three serv- 
ants under her orders, accomplished twice a month a general clean- 
ing, and preserved in good condition the beautiful Louis Thirteenth 
furniture of the old reception-rooms. When Brigitte opened the shut- 
ters of the grand salon, admitting a flood of light to these spacious 
apartments, it was as if the curtain of a theater had been suddenly 
raised, revealing scenery of marvelous splendor. On the walls the 
most exquisite Gobelin tapestries represented the whole history of 
Alexander, the Genoa velvet of the great chairs glistened between 
stately arms of gilded wood; the large Venetian mirrors in their 
beveled panels reflected the flowers of the parterre, the changing 
cascade and a little corner of the sky. Brigitte passed actively 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


22 

along with her feathers and broom, and, the cleaning ended, closed 
the shutters, and the artistic treasures of the chateau relapsed into 
obscurity. 

In the inhabited wing Philippe reserved on the first floor a large 
working cabinet, surrounded with elevated book shelves reached by 
aid of a ladder on rollers. In the middle was a large table on which 
papers were piled with a disorder more apparent than real. A hand- 
some bronze inkstand represented two chubby-clieeked Cupids fight- 
ing, while the victor laughingly forces, a grape into the mouth of 
the vanquished. On the mantel stood a fine ebony clock mounted 
with copper, one of Boule’s best. 

Next to this was the dining-room with its severe furniture of old- 
fashioned carved wood and rich massive silver that was never used. 
To make amends there was the little salon furnished in a style the 
most modern and bourgeois; hangings of blue silk poplin, furniture 
covered with the same, clock and andirons of rockwork, and a 
mosaic table on which lay some half-finished embroidery that seemed 
to await Suzanne’s return. In the two large panels were portraits 
of M. and Mme. Derblay, executed with more conscience than taste 
by a mediocre Flemish artist. 

On the first floor two large chambers communicating by dressing- 
rooms were those of Philippe and Suzanne, the one grave and som- 
ber, furnished in heavy brown velvet and black wood, with only a 
collection of modern weapons for ornament, in tbe midst of which 
might be remarked a canteen pierced by three bullets, a souvenir of 
Pont-Noyelles. The other, fresh and pure as its occupant, with 
white muslin hangings over blue stuff knotted with rose-colored rib- 
bon, white laoquered furniture with blue fillets, and all the little 
trifles that ornament so prettily a young girl’s chamber. From her 
window, which looked on the walks of the park, Suzanne might 
gaze out and dream, if reverie could overshadow for a moment her 
gay light-hearted youth. 

Philippe conducted Bachelin to his cabinet after parting with 
Suzanne. He suspected that the notary came from Beaulieu, and 
like all lovers was impatient to learn the details, important or trivial, 
which his old friend never failed to bring him of his interviews with 
the noble occupants of the chateau. But to-day Bachelin seemed in 
no mood to talk. He gazed vacantly at the iron-master, who stood 
before him like a note of interrogation, till he could restrain himself 
no longer. 

“ Did you make known my proposition to Madame de Beaulieu?” 
lie asked with assumed calmness. 

“ Certainly.” 

“ Did she find it satisfactory?” 

“ Perfectly.” 

“ Did you offer the use of my hunting ground?” he inquired at 
last, after eying the exasperatingly laconic notary askance for a 

time. 

“ What should I have done that for?” asked the notary quietly. 

“ What for!” exclaimed Philippe. 

" Dame!” resumed Bachelin, “ did you not make the offer to the 
marquis yourself this morning, in the most romantic manner?” 

Philippe colored a little and dropped his eyes. 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 23 

“ Ah! Monsieur de Beaulieu spoke to you of our interview, but 
he does not know that it was I wnom he met?” 

“ 1 have told him. Ought I to have told him also that you filled 
his game-bag for love of his sister? Ah! ah! are you going to dis- 
claim! Do you not then love Mademoiselle de Beaulieu?” 

“ But— it is the merest folly,” said Philippe, “for a wurking- 
man so far removed from the great world to aspire to one so beauti- 
ful and proud. 1 saw her preoccupied and sad, a little anxious per 
haps in the absence of her lover, and insensibly I grew to love her. 
Ah! my friend, I am ashamed of myself, but 1 cannot conquer the 
insane passion, which fills me with a new delight, a delicious intoxi- 
cation, with everything but hope; for there my blind infatuation 
ends, 1 give you my word.” 

“ You do not hope — but you love. Then 1 have not been wrong 
to speak to the marchioness as 1 have done?” 

“ To speak?” stammered Philippe. “ To speak— how?” 

“ As you have spoken }^ourself, in language as passionate as per- 
suasive. ’ ’ 

The iron-master retreated a step, bit his lip violently, and said, in 
a voice that he tried to render calm : 

‘ ‘ I have not desired you, have I, to make such confidences to the 
marchioness?” 

“ No,” replied Bachelin quietly, “but a favorable opportunity 
offered, and I took advantage of it. There is nothing, don’t you 
see, like clear understanding. You would have trifled away weeks, 
perhaps months, getting more and more deeply ensnared. It was 
much better to speak out at once, even if haughtily repulsed. Do 
you not admit that my reasons were good? ’ 

Philippe was silent. He had hardly heard Bachelin. A confu- 
sion of thoughts whirled through his brain ; he had, as it were, lost 
the consciousness of his existence, and seemed to be carried through 
space with bewildering rapidity, while the air whizzed in his ears 
and a voice repeated with a horribly fatiguing persistency: “ Claire! 
if she were to be yours!” 

“ Why do you gaze at me with that fixed stare?” said Bachelin. 
“ You look like a man in the nightmare?” 

Philippe passed his hand over his brow as if to dispel a painful 
sensation : 

‘ ‘ Pardon me. I was disconcerted at the thought that you have 
taken so serious a step without my knowledge. I have not ceased 
to regret having been weak enough to confess to you my love for 
Mademoiselle de Beaulieu ; but when one loves, the heart seems too 
small to contain all its tenderness, and something escapes in spite of 
itself. I had hardly spoken when my illusions vanished and the 
pitiless truth returned. Mademoiselle de Beaulieu has never done 
me the honor to perceive that I exist. She is rich, is betrothed to 
her cousin, she will be a duchess, and 1 am a madman to love her. 
I deserve to be punished, and am prepared to bear it. Tell me all; 
do not spare me. ’ ’ 

“ So be it. 1 will tell you first that Mademoiselle de Beaulieu is 
no longer rich, that she will in all probability never be a duchess, 
and that an honest man like yourself never had so good a chance to 
please her as now. ” 


24 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


“ Oh, take care; do not encourage me to hope; disappointment 
would be too cruel.” 

“ 1 do bid you hope,” replied Bachelin, “ and in doing so 1 betray 
to you the secrets ot the Beaulieu family. But you have too much 
interest in being prudent to repeat what I have said. Mademoiselle 
de Beaulieu is ruined by the loss of the English suit, but she does 
not know it. The Duke de Bligny has been in Paris for six weeks, 
and neglects her. She does not know that either. When Mademoi- 
selle Claire knows that she is abandoned, there will be a fearful tem- 
pest in her heart, and those who are near her may gather up the 
wreck.” 

“Ruined and abandoned!” cried Philippe, “how can it be? 
What need has she of fortune, and what treasure could one ask for 
but herself?” • 

“ It is under this very aspect of disinterestedness that 1 have 
shown you to them.” 

“Oh! tell them so, tell them so, I implore you. But no,” he 
added after a pause, “ say nothing. Mademoiselle de Beaulieu is 
proud, and the idea of owing an obligation to the man she is to 
marry would create a barrier between us. I would receive her hand 
on my knees, but 1 wish her to believe herself rich that she may be 
free to accept or refuse me freely. And should I sign over to her 
all I possess, I would still be the favored one.” 

“There, there!” said Bachelin, “you are traveling too fast. 
What a fine thing is youth and passion ! But you must move at a 
more reasonable rate; the only question at present is that of present- 
ing you at the clidteau, so that you may enjoy the satisfaction of 
contemplating the object of your desires, as they said in the last cent- 
ury. Be grave and calm. Conduct yourself discreetly, and take 
your sister with you. She will act as a screen for you, they will 
occupy themselves with her, and meanwhile you will compose your- 
self.” 

“ And when shall I go to Beaulieu?” asked Philippe in agitation. 

“ Ah! are you frightened already before you have even set out? 
Well, say to-morrow. A night’s rest will restore your self-posses- 
sion. so that you may make the most of your opportunities and ad- 
vantages.” 

And rising slowly, the notary took his leather case under his arm 
and moved toward the door. Pausing midw r ay : 

“ Do you still regret that I spoke to Madame de Beaulieu?” he in- 
quired. “ In your agitation you have not even asked what her re- 
ply was.” 

“ True!” exclaimed Philippe, and his joy changing suddenly to 
uneasiness. “ What did she say?” he inquired. 

“ What was natural in such a case— that she should not constrain 
Mademoiselle Claire— with the usual commonplaces. Let me tell 
you that the strength of the position you have to force is not on the 
'mother’s side, but on the daughter’s. Which said, 1 am off to 
dinner.” 

And after affectionately pressing the iron master’s hand, Bachelin 
took his departure. 

Philippe remained alone absorbed in profound meditation. Look- 
ing calmly at his situation it did not appear desperate. Mile, de 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


25 

Beaulieu, unworthily betrayed by her lover, must remain a few 
months at least in the Juras to allow time to elapse after her humili- 
ating disappointment ; he might see her, and with delicate and as- 
siduous attentions might come to be not unpleasing to her. Suzanne 
would prove a useful ally. She would become Claire’s companion, 
would win her with her artless tenderness, and little by little the 
thought of the brother would enter Mile, de Beaulieu’s heart. 

And the dream began to wear the appearance of reality. He saw 
the two girls walking side by side in the shades of Pont-Avesnes, 
one tall and proud, the other gentle and graceful; he felt the intoxi- 
cation of faint delicious perfumes, he was about to touch them when 
suddenly a fresh mouth on his forehead roused him from his rev- 
erie, and Suzanne’s voice murmured in his ear; 

“ What are you thinking about, Philippe?” 

As the iron-master remained silent and motionless looking at her 
with a vague smile, she continued; 

“ You will not tell me. Shall I tell you then? 1 would wager 
you are thinking of a beautiful blonde young lady.” 

“ What do you mean?” he began. But the girl’s mischievous 
glance disconcerted him. He stood before her in stupefaction, won- 
dering by what strange sagacity she had penetrated his secret. 

“ You are agitated,” she resumed, tenderly. “You thought your 
secret was safe, but you have not been yourself for a month past, 
and it needed no great discernment to discover that I no longer 
possessed your whole heart. Oh! I am not jealous, 1 love you too 
well, my Philippe, I who am not your sister only but your child. 
Love and be loved ! for there is no happiness that can equal your 
deserts.” 

Tears moistened the eyes of the iron-master. His sister’s tender- 
ness had relaxed his overwrought nerves. He leaned on the tall 
chimney-piece looking down at her while she smiled up at him. 

“ Now you are weeping,” said Suzanne, “ it is sad then to love?” 

“ Let us talk no more of such folly,” he said. 

“ Folly! and why? What woman could know you without want- 
ing to please you? 1 will go to her myself and say; ‘ Mademoiselle, 
you are wrong not to adore my brother; there is not a man in all the 
world to whom he is not absolutely superior. I who have known 
him so long declare it. ’ And I will be so eloquent that she will 
come to you herself and say, ‘ Monsieur, you have so extraordinary 
a little woman for a sister that I cannot longer refuse to recognize 
your merit. Will you do me the favor to be my husband?’ You 
will bow with grace and say, ‘ I could not refuse you, mademoiselle. ’ 

1 will bless you with a patronizing and solemn air and you will be 
happy. Ah ! you laugh ! you are comforted. ’ ’ And taking him by 
the arm, she added ; “ In the meantime while awaiting your wed- 
ding-day, we will walk in the garden. ’ ’ 


CHAPTER IV. 

Upon stepping out of the train tiiat had brought him from St. 
Petersburg to Paris, the Duke de Bligny, fatigued by the journey 
which he had made without stopping, had himself driven to his 
club. Having no suite prepared, and his aunt’s hotel being closed, 


26 THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 

lie found it convenient to take up his quarters in one of the cham- 
bers which the large clubs keep at the disposition of guests. His 
plan was to remain in Paris only a week at furthest, barely allow- 
ing time to wind up his affairs with government, and make a few 
purchases before setting out for Beaulieu. 

Nearly a year had elapsed since he had been in Prance, during 
which time he had led in the fashionable Russian world the arti- 
ficial Parisian life which is the foreigner’s supreme good, and which 
resembles the fashionable life of Paris as a Rhine stone resembles a 
Wisapoor diamond. 

The refined corruption of the Slav had, however, taken hold upon 
him ; he had found an enchantment in this intermingling of Asiatic 
voluptuousness with European activity. The high-born Russian 
ladies had allured him with their undulating grace and strange 
indefinable beauty. He wished to penetrate the secret of these 
smiling Sphinxes with their eyes full of disquiet and claws full of 
danger. Young, handsome, the bearer of a great name, society had 
flattered and courted him, and little by little had effaced from his 
heart the image of his betrothed, like the beautiful pastels of Latour 
whose colors grow pale with time. 

Far from Claire, he at first felt himself an exile and cultivated re- 
tirement. But how could he, the youngest attache of the French 
embassy, on all sides the object of polite attentions, lead a clois- 
tered life? At the end of a week Gaston could not resist appearing 
at one of the receptions of his chief, and thus made his entry in 
Russian society. 

On this first evening the duke became the favorite of the aristoc- 
racy. His grandfather, an emigre with the Count d’ Artois, had 
lived in intimacy with the Nesselrodes, the Pahleus, and the Gort- 
chakoffs. De Bligny was welcomed with the most flattering distinc- 
tion by the greatest personages at court, and, presented to the Czar, was 
treated by him with marked favor. From day to day the position 
of the young diplomat increased in importance while his superiors 
were shrewd enough, instead of showing themselves piqued at his 
success, to seek to turn to advantage the influence acquired by their 
young subordinate. 

But if Gaston was an elegant and accomplished man of the world, 
he was but a mediocre politician. He plunged into amusement and 
neglected intrigue; so that it soon came to be understood that, if 
society had gained a brilliant guest, France had not secured a useful 
servant. Fluttering, buzzing, flitting from flower to flower, the 
Duke de Bligny was not the busy bee that produces good honey ; 
but the wasp which ravages while its brilliant corselet glitters in tlie 
sunlight. His well-strung nerves bade defiance to the most exhaust- 
ing fatigue; he could keep his head while supping with the most 
famous drinkers: and all the world knows how Russians drink. 
Mme.de Bligny had rightly guessed. The duke was the hero of 
the winter -season. Nothing was done without him, and he might 
have aspired to the hand of the richest heiress in St. Petersburg. 

At the end of six months he began to weary of the existence he 
led and found excitement only in play. Upon his first game of 
cards he had recognized in himself the born gamester. He played 
with the insolent luck of one who had entered the world as con- 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


27 

queror. And morning after morning he returned home, laden with 
the spoils of his adversaries, with his brow clasped as it were in an 
iron vise, and retired when day broke — the dark gloomy day of 
Russian winter which resembles twilight. About four o’clock he 
rose, and with the lighting of the city gas his day began. For 
nearly two years he hardly saw the sunlight. His once pleasing 
features had hardened; they were still handsome, but the freshness 
of youth had been replaced by the mask of the viveur. His wavy 
brown hair began to grow gray on the temples, his blue eye was deep 
and sunken. The traces of the feverish life he led grew gaily more 
visible. 

His aunt would no longer have recognized in him the bashful, 
gentle- voiced youth whom Claire laughingly called “ Mademoiselle 
Gaston,” who was content to pass his evenings in their quiet salon. 
He was a man, and one of the most dangerous among men, believ- 
ing nothing, considering nothing outside of his own good pleasure. 
The paternal blood calmed by years of unruffled repose began to boil 
in his veins, and the race of He Bligny — which since Henry 111. had 
furnished the court of France its most voluptuous favorites, its most 
refined gallants and roues — had in him a fitting representative. 

There was the vigor of a giant in the young man’s delicate 
frame. These soft languishing lords who painted their faces and 
hands, who called on their pages rather than stoop to pick up their 
bel-bouquet, and were carried in a litter to avoid the fatigue of horses, 
in battle charged like madmen with a hundred pounds’ weight on 
their persons. Gaston would not have gone a kilometer on foot for 
any useful purpose, but was capable of hunting all day or fencing 
for hours without weariness. 

It was in gaming, however, that he exhibited the full extent of 
his powers. He seemed to compel luck |3y the force of his will, 
and won with an unheard-of persistency. The worst hands became 
good ones when he took them. The bank, unlucky when he played 
against it, became impregnable when he held the cards. For two 
years he continued to be the spoiled child of fortune; they called 
him “ Gaston the Lucky,” and he escaped suspicion only because of 
his well-known honesty. 

The remains of his patrimony, thus augmented by his w innings 
placed him in a position to live on a grand scale. He kept superb 
horses, splendid lodgings, and indulged in all the luxuries pertain- 
ing to a man of fashion. After the performance at the Theatre 
Fra^ais, or upon quitting the house where his evening had been 
passed, he was driven in a sleigh the length of the Perspective. 
.Muffled closely in fur robes, he loved to feel the cold night wind on 
his face and with nerves braced, entered upon his game about two 
in the morning, winning an easy victory from his already excited 
opponents. 

Seated at the table beneath the burning light oi the lusters, he 
played always with an impassability which neither gain nor loss 
could move. In the memory of the oldest gamesters such a bearing 
had been unknown. He treated with silent disdain the puerile super- 
stitions he witnessed in those around him, trusting to himself alone 
and shrugging his shoulders at the fetishes. 

In society he had a number of intrigues, though his was not a 


28 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


passionate nature; he was too profoundly selfish to love. Once only 
he conceived himself in love, but the result proved that he flattered 
himself. The Countess of Woreseff, one of the greatest ladies of the 
Russian aristocracy, celebrated for her golden hair and her emeralds, 
became enamored of the duke; he followed her into society, waltzed 
with her under the enraged eyes of a jealous husband, and well-nigh 
forgot his cards. 

The count devoured his fury, and appeared before his wife with a 
smiling face. But having obtained information which strengthened 
his conviction of an intrigue, he resolved to force the duke to fight. 

He repaired to the club, and took the bank. The cards being ex- 
hausted, upon Gaston having cut, the count refused roundly to con- 
tinue the game. The duke coldly demanded explanations, the count 
declined to give them, and a challenge ensued. 

The conduct of Woreseff was universally censured, but he had 
gained his end. The following day the meeting took place in a little 
birch-wood, firing at twenty paces distance. Gaston, who did not 
disdain life, showed the husband no generosity. 

He fired at the signal, and lodged a ball in his adversary’s stomach. 
The count fell ; but raising himself on one knee with infuriate en- 
ergy, supporting his elbow on the reddened snow, he took aim at 
Bligny. Weakened, however, by loss of blood, his hand trembled, 
and the ball reached only the duke’s shoulder. 

The count survived this terrible wound; and at the end of six 
weeks Gaston had resumed his former life. But, strange to say, 
Count Woreseff ’s ball seemed to have broken the duke’s run of luck. 
W as it that the blood spilled had deranged the happy equilibrium of 
his faculties? or was Gaston, the favored of fortune, now spurned oy 
her? 

From this day he lost uninterruptedly. His superb confidence 
forsook him, he became familiar with the anxiety of the gamester, 
who dreads to turn up an unlucky card. He no longer threw down 
his money with the coolness of a conqueror, he no longer mastered 
his opponents by his imperturbable self-possession. He turned pale. 
His unconscious hands made nervous rappings on the edge of the 
table, and his white teeth were clinched tightly over his lips. When 
day dawned, he quitted the gaming-table with disheveled hair, cra- 
vat untied, and shirt soiled and tumbled by contact with the green 
cloth. 

Step by step he descended from the elevation which he had so 
proudly mounted. His winnings were swept away with terrifying 
rapidity. He became embarrassed, and resorted to borrowing — this 
first symptom of approaching downfall. 

He had gloried in the supremacy over this world of viveurs to 
which chance had elevated him, and in an instant his pedestal crum- 
bled beneath him. 

Ceasing to win, he ceased to exist for the gamesters, and his ap- 
pearance among them now passed unnoticed. 

Never had his passion for play been so inordinate as in this diffi- 
cult crisis. He staked with frantic violence and lost or won in a 
single night enormous sums. He was no longer the skillful horse- 
man who guides his steed, but the terrified rider carried along furi- 
ously by the animal which he makes no attempt to master, and who 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


29 

is more likely to end with broken bones than to reach his goal. And 
he did not reach it. For him, returns of luck were vain; he could 
no longer profit by them ; but threw away his winnings with the im- 
petuosity of a madman. 

His embassador saved him from impending ruin by sending him 
on a mission to the government at Paris. The duel with Count 
Woreseff had given rise to unfavorable comments, and it was deemed 
expedient to remove the duke for a time. He gave him, therefore, 
a three months’ leave of absence. This mission, which the pride of 
not appearing to succumb in the struggle would not permit him to 
ask, was accepted by the duke, with joy. 

There remained to him only some fifty thousand francs, the resi- 
due of this gambling purse, which had once been a receptacle of 
treasure. Amidst the disorders of his life of excess, the memory of 
Claire had been lost to him. 

He began now to think of his betrothed. He saw again in a de- 
licious mirage the quiet peaceful salon of the Beaulieu Hotel. By the 
soft lamplight, Claire was bending over her work, her beautiful 
blonde hair lighted up with golden gleams. She was waiting for 
him — sighing at his absence, perhaps. His love for her revived, and 
he made a vow to himself to abandon the feverish existence in which 
he had known so much of keen delight and of cruel anxiety. 

If the remains of his fortune had been squandered, Mile, de Beau- 
lieu was rich; with her income of a hundred thousand livres a young 
household might make a good figure. Life in Paris was less dear by 
far than life in St. Petersburg; and then his time for follies was 
passed. 

They would spend six months, with economy, in the country, ap- 
propriating the greater part of their revenue toward the winter season. 

The duke suffered his mind to dwell on these thoughts till he felt 
himself becoming tender and good; he was another man, and he 
lingered with delight on this return to his youthful dreams. All 
along the route he caressed charming visions of the future, and 
when the train stopped at the Northern Railway station, he sprung 
lightly out to resume with joy possession of the Paris from which 
his mind and heart had wandered so far. 

It was evening. He took a childish delight in gazing from his 
carnage- window at the long line of the Rue Lafayette, with its 
countless gas-jets. The stir of the great city seized upon his imag- 
ination; there seemed an unaccustomed animation in the movements 
of passers-by. At the cross street of the Faubourg Montmartre, his 
progress became embarrassed by a crowd of vehicles; coachmen were 
calling out in quick tones, and pedestrians hurrying along to avoid 
the horses. His hack set out, and passing along the great stone 
wall of the Rothschild Hotel, turned into the Rue du Helder, and 
the duke suddenly found himself in the open boulevard. 

The sight startled him. Equipages were passing along in file to- 
ward the opera house, and in the depths of the capacious landaus 
appeared women in elegant ball costumes, with heads enveloped in 
lace scarfs. The intermittent light of the Jabloschkoff threw a pal- 
lid brightness over the fapade of the theater, and caused the helmets 
of the municipal horse-guards to glitter and sparkle; the shop-win- 
dows blazed out from amid the darkness, and the sidewalks were 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


30 

black with pedestrians. The magic tableau of Paris at night pre- 
sented itself to him in all its surpassing splendor. 

The hack turned into the Rue de la Paix, and in a few minutes, 
Gaston was at the door of his club. 

He alighted from the carriage somewhat dazed, with ears still full 
of the noise of the railway, and eyes bewildered with the glare of 
lights. He was fatigued, and going up to the chamber prepared for 
him, slept soundly till morning. 

Gaston had not been long enough absent from Paris to have for- 
gotten quite his boulevardier habits. He took to the asphalt on foot 
without delay. His Russian varnish. wore off, and he became again 
the thorough Parisian. 

For two days he remained under the influence of the intoxication 
of Paris; he rode in the Champs and the Bois, sauntered to the Hotel 
des Yentes, took the thousand steps between the Madeleine and the 
Boulevard Montmartre, happy in shaking hands and exchanging 
bows with old acquaintances. He visited the small theaters, leaned 
back deliciously in his too hard and too narrow orchestra chair, 
found the most idiotic plays excellent, experienced, in short, a degree 
of inward satisfaction which found vent in ceaseless admiration 

Since quitting Russia, he had been, in fact, like an escaped con- 
vict. His business with government was terminated in a few days, 
and he decided to leave Paris at the end of the week. He wished to 
surprise Claire and the marchioness, enjoyed their astonishment in 
anticipation, and would not for an empire have foregone the satis- 
faction of arriving unexpectedly. 

In sauntering along the Rue de la Paix, he made a visit to Bas- 
set, the family jeweler, and purchased a handsome engagement ring, 
a large sapphire, encircled with brilliants and beautifully mounted. 
He saw himself in the act of presenting to Claire the emblazoned 
white velvet case, he saw her open it, and with a grave, gentle 
smile, hand him the ring to place on her slender Anger. And this 
time it would be ended. He w r as her husband, the ring was the flrst 
link in the chain that was to bind them together. 

The evening before the day Axed for his departure, the duke found 
an unusual degree of hustle and animation at his club. An extra- 
ordinary performance was to be held in the Salle des F6tes. A se- 
lect public had assembled to hear the “ Education de la Priucesse," 
an operetta in two acts, the words by the Duke de Feras, the music 
by M. Jules Trelan. 

The performers were remarkable. Baron, of the Yarietes, took the 
role of grand chamberlain ; Daubray, ol the Palais Royal, that of 
the Chevalier Alphonse de Rouflaquette ; Saint-Germain, of the 
Gymnase, had consented to accept, for one night, that of Pepin- 
ster; the young Baron Tresorier, a member of the club, with a 
charming tenor voice, had assumed the character of Triolet ; Mine. 
J udic, that of the Princess Hortensia, and Suzanne Lagier, that of 
the queen mother. 

A great success was anticipated. From the grand vestibule hung 
Louis XIY. tapestry ; a murmur of voices and rustling of dresses 
reached the duke along with puffs of warm air, redolent of poudre 
d la marechale. Instead of withdrawing to his chamber he tossed 
his overcoat to a valet and entered. 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


31 

A trifling circumstance often decides the destiny of men. De Bligny 
in going to hear the “ Education de la Princess ” little dreamed that 
he was altering the course of his future life. 

The Salle des Fetes was sparkling w ith light. A numerous audience 
filled the chairs, an assemblage of satin, velvet, gauze and silk, the 
whole gamut of brilliant hues, above which gleamed the whiteness 
of dazzling shoulders, while the throng was agitated as with wings 
by the motion of fans. A buzz arose from time to time when some 
well-known person entered; at the further end, the stage, silent and 
severe, was concealed from view by the red drop curtain. 

The duke approached a group of black coats, among whom he 
recognized some of his friends. In the midst of them, Maitre Es- 
caude, a young notary, the heir of arch-millionaire parents, was dis- 
coursing; with an air of importance; but at sight of the duke he 
stopped short, and a profound silence ensued, broken only by the 
words, “how unfortunate!” uttered in a compassionate tone by a 
bald old man with a red face, large ears crested with tufts of yellow 
hair, a neck supported by a tall white cravat, diamond shirt but- 
tons, and polished pumps, exposing to view his white stockings. 

Bligny entered the group, and after shaking hands with his 
friends, waited, not a little perplexed by this eloquent silence. He 
was about to inquire the cause of his appearance having thus dis- 
concerted the assemblage, when the old man whispered in the ear of 
one of his friends, loud enough to be heard and to make refusal im- 
possible: 

“ Present me to the duke.” 

The friend turned toward Gaston with an air of annoyance and 
also of surprise, which seemed to say: 

“ What means the odd fancy of this popinjay?” then with resig- 
nation: “ My dear duke, Monsieur Moulinet.” 

“ Manufacturer,” added the man with diamond buttons quickly, 
“ former judge of the Tribunal de Commerce.” And taking the 
young man’s hand, he went on with an ingratiating air: “I have the 
honor, monsieur, to know your family. My daughter was educated 
at the convent with Mademoiselle de Beaulieu, your cousin — yes, 
monsieur, at the Sacre Occur, the first house in Paris. 1 spared no 
expense where Athenai's was concerned, the best was not good 
enough for her — and I beg you to believe that 1 have heard, with 
sincere regret, the unfortunate news — *’ 

For a minute or so past M. Escaude had been incurring great 
risk of rumpling his shirt bosom, or disarranging the artistic tie of 
his cravat; he telegraphed with his arms, pattered his feet, hemmed, 
but Moulinet, too well under way or unwilling to be arrested, con- 
tinued his complimentary condolences. 

“ I beg pardon,” said the duke, “ but I do not understand. You 
speak to me of bad news which touches my family, Mademoiselle de 
Beaulieu especially. Be so good as to explain yourself.” 

Maitre Escaude appeared thoroughly provoked ; and, as Moulinet 
remained silent and had assumed an appearance of unconcern, the 
young notary approached De Bligny. 

“Mon Dieu! my dear duke,” he said, “1 am sorry that you 
should learn in such a manner as this the fact alluded to by Monsieur 
Moulinet. It will be only to anticipate, however, what you will 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


32 

know to-morrow. When you entered 1 was telling these gentlemen, 
that having just returned from England, 1 learned there that the 
suit of the late Marquis de Beaulieu is lost without possibility of 
appeal.” 

At this unexpected revelation the duke turned pale. The loss of 
this suit, in which he knew Mme. de Beaulieu’s chief hopes to be 
founded, meant ruin for Claire. He made an effort to master his 
agitation. 

‘ ‘ Permit me to express my surprise, my dear maitre, at the facil- 
ity with which you make revelations with respect to the Beaulieu 
family. I did not suppose their affairs to be of a nature to furnish 
gossip to idlers. ” 

“ Believe me, my dear duke,” began the notary with an injured 
air. 

“ 1 believe what I must,” interrupted the duke, and coolly eying 
his interlocutor, he moved away followed by his friends. 

Moulinet and Escaude looked at each other for a moment in si- 
lence ; then the former said, grimacing a smile : 

“ An arrogant race these De Blignys. You got a sharp rebuff, hey? 
and I have been spattered with the mud. An arrogant race— this 
one ruined, hey?” 

“ Utterly,” said the notary, disdainfully, “ and he undertakes to 
play the grand seigneur — to dictate — give lessons to us. ” 

“ Precisely! Don’t you see, in spite of all the revolutions, we will 
never be the equal of these men. The duke would be an advan- 
tageous husband for a rich girl. ’ ’ 

The three strokes sounding at intervals with solemn slowness in- 
terrupted the discourse. Escaude and Moulinet took their seats. 
The caressing measure of a brilliant waltz filled the room with light 
melody. The duke had taken his seat a short distance off, and while 
apparently attentive to the music, was absorbed in deep thought. 
He had bound himself, and he wore on his heart the white jewel 
case stamped with the De Beaulieu and De Bligny arms which con- 
tained the engagement ring. 

Nevertheless, Claire ruined, meant mediocrity for life, the neces- 
sity to bury himself in a provincial chateau, and vegetate as a gen- 
tleman farmer, seeing no one and dreading expenditure. This for 
the handsome, the seductive, the much sought after Gaston — burial 
in the brilliancy of his prime. He regretted bitterly the winnings 
that he had squandered ; little to be desired as such means might be, 
it was money, and to live without resources in this practical age in 
which men were estimated by their pecuniary value, was to cease 
to live at all. 

Then he thought compassionately of the despair of Claire and 
her mother, when the fatal news reached them. They were still ig- 
norant of it, since this Escaude had brought it fresh from England. 
He would have wished to hasten his departure that he might be 
near to soften the blow. 

The curtain rose upon a fresh sunny spring landscape, to the song 
of the reapers : 

“ Chautez, belles filles 
Glanez, beaux gargons 
Leves vos faucilles 
Au bruit des chansons.” 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


33 

And the commonplace words changing the current of his 
thoughts; he saw himself with Claire at Beaulieu under a soft sky 
in the bright warmth of a summer’s day, with the reapers singing 
in the fields. A delicious languor seemed to steal over him, and by 
the side of her whom he loved he felt himself happy with his pov- 
erty. It was a calm so profound, a rest so soothing, after his brief 
and stormy career as a riveur ! He enjoyed it to the full, and in 
this mediocrity to which Claire’s ruin condemned him, he caught a 
glimpse of gratifications alluring and as .yet unknown. 

On the stage the piece was developing, and the Chevalier Alphonse 
de Rouflaquette was singing his great duet with the princess. The 
warm caressing tones of Judic murmured with passionate ardor: 

“ Vieus ! fi, ma grandeur pour toi je renonce, 

Qiuttons mon palais, desertous macour.” 

And Daubray replies, passing his hand over the blonde locks on 
her forehead : 

“ Non pas ! La grandeur n’exclut pas 1’amour, 

Rfechesse et pauvoir, conserve en ce jour, 

Conserve tout pour ton Alphonse.” 

And the popular artist rested on the concluding phrase with an 
effective pause which raised a storm of applause. The “ Education 
de la Princess ” promised a brilliant success. 

Moulinet, extended in his chair, wagged his head like a bear listen- 
ing to the flute. He was little concerned to follow the adventures 
of the Princess Hortensia; another princess interested him much 
more, his daughter, Athenais. He saw her as a little girl at the con- 
vent, her latge feet and red hands, her irregular features and awk- 
ward angular figure. She came to the parlor to see him, amidst 
elegantly dressed companions, who eyed her disdainfully. P6re 
Moulinet was not rich at this period, he had not yet founded his 
great chocolate manufactory at Villepinte, nor invented his blue 
paper prospectus, which had made his manufactures known through- 
out the smallest, communes of France. He was a wholesale dealer 
in provincial produce, and the noble mothers of Athenais’ compan- 
ions did not disguise their astonishment that the heiress of the 
“ grocer ” had obtained admittance among their daughters. Echoes 
of various little intrigues had reached his ears. He knew the arro- 
gant treatment his daughter had received, and at the head of the 
coterie of nobles he remembered the proud Mile, de Beaulieu. How 
often had he heard angry words with reference to her enemy escape 
Athenais, together with vows to have her revenge. Had the venge- 
ance come and even without their preparation? Athenais Moul- 
inet was now one of the richest heiresses in Paris, and the proud 
Claire de Beaulieu a dowerless girl. The daughter of the “ grocer,” 
dressed by Worth, her hair becomingly arranged, made elegant, illu- 
minated with the halo of millions, might now pass for one of the 
prettiest girls among the rich bourgeoisie. The daughter of the 
marchioness would disappear into the obscurity of the provinces, 
and this long prepared marriage with the Duke de Bligny — a brill- 
iant nobleman, the bearer of a proud name — might come to naught. 

Very often had Athenais turned pale with envious rage when 
8 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


34 

the duke, accompanied by his aunt, had visited Claire at the Sacre 
Cceur. Claire was to become a duchess, while she, Atlienai's, would 
wed some notary, an Escaude, or a manufacturer like her father, 
and look down in her turn on humiliated girls or base-born boys. 

And Moulinet smiled proudly, as running iiis hand into one of 
his pockets, which gave forth a tinkling sound of silver pieces, he 
murmured: “ Why may 1 not buy her a husband to her liking?” 
He looked around on the elegant crowd as if seeking the son-in law 
to his mind. With his millions, nothing was impossible. Who 
could refuse the hand of Atlienai's, when presented with a check 
whose value should be unspecified? Should it be a count or a mar- 
quis, and what sum was necessary to buy him? He had but to 
name it. Moulinet could give ten millions as easily as one. He 
could buy a prince for his daughter. 

His eyes wandered boldly, almost menacingly over all these 
strange faces till they settled at last on the Duke de Bligny. His 
face was grave. “ He is thinking of his cousin,” thought Moulinet, 
with secret irritation. He could hardly have explained clearly the 
Confused thoughts that arose in his mind, but a project began to take 
root there. 

The curtain had just fallen on the first act, and amidst the ap- 
plause he saw the duke rise and accompanied by Lis friends proceed 
toward the door. He quitted his seat, and followed the direction 
taken by the young men. 

On the second floor the f§te had not interrupted the gaming. The 
salons reserved for play were silent; hardly a faint murmur of the 
refrains of the operetta reached the ears of the pla.yers. They knew 
there was entertainment below, but what cared they? They found 
their enchantment around the table in horseshoe form beneath the 
burning gas-lights that parched their hair. Women were there ele- 
gantly dressed, grouped like a bouquet of deliciously perfumed 
flow T ers, but their queen of diamonds and queen of hearts were more 
alluring a hundred fold. Insensible to the attractions of the operetta, 
deaf to the voices of the singers, to the frenzied music of the 
orchestra with all its instruments joyously let loose, they continued 
to throw their pieces on the green cloth. 

Mechanically the duke made his way to the salons, walking as 
though at random. Was it destiny that led him to this table after 
all his good resolves? The banker had just called out, “ Gentlemen, 
make your bets.” Gaston drew a thousand franc note from his 
pocket and let it fall with a distrait air. He won, with an exclama- 
tion of surprise, for he had grown a stranger to success. Curious to 
see whether his luck would continue, he seated himself at the table. 
At the same moment Moulinet entered. 

It was the first time he had set foot there, for he abhorred “ games 
of chance,” preferring skill to luck. He approached the table, how- 
ever, and seeing Gaston’s hundred louis, placed ten francs beside 
the duke’s pile; discreetly purchasing the opportunity to observe 
Bliffny. 

The game went on but the duke’s luck changed. The ten francs 
of the virtuous tradesman seemed to have broken the charm. 
Bligny turned pale, and again overmastered by his passion, staked 
frantically his last notes. "Moulinet, disdainful of winning, contin- 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


35 


ued to throw down his ten francs. When at sunrise the game ceased 
for want of players, the duke had lost forty thousand francs, while 
Mouiinet, long since satisfied respecting the destiny of Mile, de 
Beaulieu’s betrothed lover, slept a peaceful sleep in his superb hotel 
in the boulevard Malesherbes. 

At the hour when Gaston was to have taken the train for Beau- 
lieu, with feverish pulse and nerves unstrung lie was ascending the 
steps to his chamber. Standing by his window he leaned his arm 
on the rail and looked out on the sweepers who were beginning their 
morning task in the Rue de la Paix. The delicious freshness oi the 
air revived him; the clear sky showed a faint rosy tint. “1 have 
committed a folly,” he said to himself, “but I will set out this 
evening. Au diable baccara!” He dressed, went down stairs, and 
took a carriage for the Bois de Boulogne. In the evening he would 
set out and would return no more to the gamingtable. 

Meanwhile Claire, unshaken in her trust and steadfast in her love, 
awaited the return of her betrothed. 


CHAPTER Y. 

The evening of the day on which Bachelin hnd brought his dis- 
astrous tidings to the chateau, the marchioness, still stunned by the 
' blow, was seated in her cushioned arm-chair absorbed in deep 
thought. Her meditations were interrupted by the sudden enhance 
of the marquis. She started, and looked up anxiously, as if dread- 
ing some new catastrophe, and seeing him calm and smiling, heaved 
a sigh of relief. 

“Our cousins have arrived, mother,” he said, “ the carriage has 
entered the avenue.” 

As he spoke the sound of wheels on the gravel walk reached them 
through the soft evening air. The marchioness threw a lace scarf 
over her head, drew her shawl around her and crossing the vestibule 
came out on the flight of stairs as a carrage stopped before it. A 
laughing face appeared at the door, a hand gloved with peau de 
Sulde was waved gayly and a clear fresh voice called out a spirited 
“ how dye do.” 

The young marquis was already at the carriage door. A torrent 
of silk issued from' it beneath which emerged a little reddish-brown 
kid boot, a pretty ankle in a gray silk stocking, and the Baroness de 
Prefont in person sprung into the arms of the marchioness with: 
“ Ah, aunt, how happy I am! how long it has been! and you my 
dear cousins— my dear Claire! if seems a century since 1 have seen 
you!” Then passing on to Octave, she permitted him to touch her 
cheeks, shook hands with him heartily & 1’anglaise, laughing, rus- 
tling her dress, pausing between her exclamalions only lone- enough 
to take breath; storming the chateau with bursts of ecstasy. Then 
with a sudden change to seriousness she exclaimed : 

“ Ah! mon Dieu, where is my husband?” With a rapid glance 
around: “ Has my husband deserted me?” 

A subdued voice replied: “ Here 1 am, chive amie. I have been 
patiently awaiting the end of your effusions to present myself to the 
ladies.” 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


36 

And emerging from an obscure corner a young man about thirty, 
in traveling dress, approached the marchioness and Claire with a 
quiet smile. 

“Eh bien! make your bow then,” said the baroness quickly. 
“ There! it is done! Now go and look after the unloading of my 
luggage. I recommend to your special attention the large black box 
which contains my hats. Will you answer for it with your head?” 

“Yes, chere amie ,” replied the baron quietly. And turning to 
Octave: ‘‘There are nineteen of them,” he added with a resigned 
smile, “ three bundled kilos over weight! 1 believe my wife trans- 
ports artillery!” 

The ladies‘returned together to the salon. “ Ah! my dear aunt,” 
whispered the baroness, leaning toward the marchioness, ' ‘ how much 
we have to tell you.” And with an air of sympathy, “ you know 
how we love you and that nothing that concerns you is indifferent 
to us.” 

As Mme. de Beaulieu remarked with uneasiness that Claire was 
listening with interested attention, ‘‘1 know,” she went on, ‘‘my 
husband will tell you all.” And turning toward Claire to dissipate 
the effect of her imprudent words : 

“ Do you kuow we are going to Switzerland? But we could not 
pass so near Beaulieu without stopping. We will remain several 
days; we are going in a carriage and will enter by the Verrteres 
pass. Alas, our poor army of the East! The baron was wounded 
at Joux in the last fight of the rear guard with the Badois of this 
terrible Werder. It is for me a pilgrimage, you understand; my 
husband bore himself like a hero. His company numbered over two 
hundred men — poor boys, frozen in the snow — how dreadful! he 
brought back only eighty, and they have not been presented with 
the Legion of Honor. True, we are Legitimists. Ah! what an 
abomination this government isl Do you all think Gambetta will 
accept the ministry?” 

And the little baroness went on with increasing animation, grow- 
ing dramatic or prattling like a hen-parrot as she passed from sub- 
ject to subject with a confusing mobility of ideas and variety of ex- 
pression; a living kaleidoscope, varying her design and aspect every 
moment. The marchioness and Claire listened in wonder and con- 
fusion. In their quiet country life, they had grown serious and 
thoughtful. The flightiness of the volatile Parisian affected them 
with a sensation of giddiness. 

Without waiting for a reply to her question, the baroness crossed 
the salon and approaching a window with a prospect of the well- 
shaded valley where the chimneys of the manufactory emitted fiery 
flimes into the darkness, exclaimed, clapping her hands with 
childish glee: 

“ How beautiful! It looks like a s^ene at the opera. Ah! nat- 
ure! How fortunate you are to live among fields and woods! a de- 
lightful existence, and how it preserves one. Look at me. aunt, and 
compare me with Claire. We are the same age and 1 might be taken 
for her mother. Balls, dinners, visiting, theaters. Parisian excite- 
ment fatigues and wears one out so. Much pleasure is hard work! 
You smile, aunt, you are about to say that my- husband and 1 might 
live differently if we would, we might pass four months at Bourgogne. 


THE MASTER OP THE FORGES. 87 

But the baron is a savant, he has his intellectual center at the capi- 
tal, his scientific assemblies and the Academy. Ah! mon Dieu! the 
Academy! 1 have a thousand obligations that I cannot escape, 
friends to entertain, charitable works lo superintend — and lastly my 
daughter whom X cannot leave with only her governess. And when 
we have spent two mouths at the sea and two at Nice — you see what 
remains — all! I am quite worn out! Let us sit down!” 

And passing like a whirlwind by the marchioness and Claire the 
baroness plunged into the depths of Mme de Beaulieu’s arm-chair. 

“ Now tell me about yourselves. What do you do here? How 
do you employ your time? And Octave? And your neighbor the 
iron-master? lou see 1 remember what you have written me. Ma 
foil what would become of one without a little head!” 

Gathering herself up in the great arm-chair the baroness closed 
her eyes languidly and prepared to listen with a good will to her 
aunt and cousin. There was a momentary silence, then almost with- 
out transition, like a bird that having sent out its last note falls 
asleep in its nest, she leaned her head back on the lace-covered chair 
and her light breathing indicated that she slept. The marchioness 
and Claire exchanged a smile of amusement as each took up her 
work while waiting for their volatile guest to awaken. 

The Baroness de Prefont, nee Sophie d’Hennecourt, was an only 
child of the Marquis de Beaulieu’s sister. She had been educated 
at 'the convent with Claire, had known M. Moulinet’s heiress and 
had contributed not a little to the hatred of Atnenai's for Mile de 
Beaulieu. Good-hearted, but heedless, one half of her life was spent 
in repairing the harm done by the other half. From Athenai's’ 
first appearance at the convent she had nicknamed her “ little Cocoa.” 
and war had been on the eve of breaking out between them when 
Claire interposed in a tone of authority, and put a stop to it. 
Athenai's had been more irritated against her who opposed than 
against her who attacked her. Claire’s precocious strength of char- 
acter procured for her an ascendency over all her companions, and 
to Athenai's she seemed in some sort the incarnation of the aristocracy 
which rendered her life so distasteful. Evetytliing in the patrician 
girl offended and irritated the bourgeoise— the elegance of her figure, 
the whiteness of her hands, the rich simplicity of her dress, even 
her stamped paper and the gioves which she wore during recreation 
hours. Claire was perfectly aware of the hostility of the little 
Moulinet, but she paid no heed to it, and, unconsciouslv perhaps to 
herself , ‘her disdain of Athenafs became accentuated. Between the 
two there existed a secret antagonism; it was perfectly understood 
that Mile. Moulinet was the enemy of Mile, de Beaulieu, and the pair 
were not unevenly matched. 

P&re Moulinet w r as then in the way of amassing a great fortune. 
It was asserted that he had discovered a process of making vanilla 
from charcoal, that he used grated almonds for cocoa, and that this 
alimentary chemistry yielded him enormous profits. He had teen 
made a judge or the Tribunal de Commerce, and had begun to he 
regarded in the Parisian world as a man who possessed a financial 
value. 

One day he came to the Sacre Cceur in a handsome two -horse 
landau, sent for his daughter to the parlor, and Athenai's appeared 


38 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


no more at the convent. The next Sunday her comrades met her in 
the Bois in her father’s superb carriage and were greeted by her with 
eager smiles from the heights of her elegant equipage. A few 
months later, Sophie and Claire also returned to their homes, and the 
war ended. Sophie shortly after married. The Duke de Bligny 
being absent, Claire’s existence had become one of retirement, and 
the last six months had been passed away from Paris. All recollec- 
tion of Athenai's had faded from her mind, and as she watched the 
Baroness de Prefont slumbering softly in the great arm-chair, she 
thought of anything else rather than of the strifes to which her lively 
humor had formerly given the signal. 

The opening of the door aroused the baroness. She saw Octave 
enter with her husband, and springing up quickly, recovered her 
senses in an instant. 

“Ah! ciel! you have let me fall asleep!” And beginning to 
laugh, “ This is the castle of the Sleeping Beauty of fairy-tale. One 
no sooner enters here than one falls asleep. But where is Prince 
Charming? Is it you, baron? No, it is Octave. Pardon me, aunt, 
it was the air of your country. We are not accustomed to such an 
atmosphere in Paris. ’ ’ 

The baron approached with quiet gravity. 

“ I have executed your commands, chere amie, 1 have had your 
luggage brought in. The whole chateau is encumbered with it.” 

“ Very well,” replied the baroness, with the air of a queen content 
with the obedience of her subjects. 

“ Shall 1 show you to your room?” asked Claire, seeing the bar- 
oness still standing. 

“Yes, thanks,” she replied. And taking a red leather satchel 
stamped with her arms from the chair on which she had deposited 
it upon entering, she gave a glance toward her husband. The latter 
hastened to relieve her, but withdrawing it quickly: 

“ No, no, not you,” she said, “ you are too distrait , and it must 
have careful handling. Here you,* Octave,” with a sign to her hus- 
band, indicating the marchioness. 

“ Your confidence is flattering,” retorted Prefont, with a smile. 
“ Go, Octave, my boy, discharge your office. I will remain with 
your mother. ’ ’ 

The baroness nodded approval to her husband for taking her hint, 
and putting her hand on Claire’s arm to insure her leaving the two 
to the tete-a-tete she had contrived, they left the room together, the 
baroness humming an air. 

The baron, grave and preoccupied, took a turn in the room in si- 
lence. The salon was dark. A. fire was crackling in the red granite 
chimney-place, and dancing to and fro on the ceiling. The mar- 
chioness was saying to herself that the baron perhaps brought more 
favorable news from Paris than they had had from Bachelin, and 
'beginning to enterlain a glimmering of hope. The rapid tread of the 
young women could be heard on the floor above, waking strange 
echoes in the old mansion, while a subtle trace of the notes the bar- 
oness had been humming still seemed joyously vibrating in the air. 

The marchioness at last roused herself from her meditations, raised 
her eyes, and seeing the baron standing before her, said: 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


39 


“ Well, nephew, you have something to say to me in confidence. 
I have a suspicion of its nature, and am as you see much concerned. ” 

“ It is indeed a sad affair,” replied the young man, “ and it will 
not add to the esteem in which our class is held; for when one of us, 
alas! is false to his obligations, the rest must suffer for it. Our only 
superiority over the other ranks of society is in our loyalty to our 
word. ‘ On the word of a gentleman,’ is still a proverb. When men 
cease to recognize in us this respect for our pledges our last boast 
will have departed.” 

“ Tell me all,” said the marchioness, raising her thin slender hand 
toward the baron, “ conceal nothing from me. I have already been 
informed by Bachelin that the Duke de Blignyhas been in Paris for 
six weeks.” 

“Ah! really, you knew that!” said the baron; “did you know 
also that he is about to be married?” 

“ To be married!” exclaimed Mme. de Beaulieu, in stupefaction, 
raising herself in her chair, and turning almost as white as her 
snowy hair. 

“Yes, my dear aunt. Pardon my abruptness, bul it appeared to 
me best to come directly to the point.” 

“ To be married!” repeated the marchioness, slowly. 

“ The duke has made every effort to prevent it from transpiring, 
but the future father-in-law, who is, it seems, the vulgarest of bour- 
geois, is less reticent. He is exultant at the prospect of his daughter 
becoming a duchess. I heard how it was brought about by Cas- 
teran, an intimate friend of the duke, and I regret to say that noth- 
ing could be more deplorable. The duke had no sooner arrived in 
Paris than he engaged in heavy gambling at his club, was uniucky, 
and soon came to the end of his slender resources. He then had re- 
course to the club cash-box, where he obtained the necessary funds 
to meet his engagements. He continued to play, and at the end of a 
week found himself two hundred and fifty thousand francs in 
arrears. He lost his head completely, it seems, and maddened by 
his ill luck threw away his money blindly. In two evenings he won 
back all, then lost a hundred thousand francs, and ended with a 
culotte of two hundred thousand francs.” 

The marchioness looked at her nephew inquiringly. “ A culotte ?” 
she repeated. 

“ Excuse me, that is the technical expression used to denote a 
heavy loss at play.” 

“ A culotte of two hundred thousand francs,” said the marchion- 
ess, smiling sadly, “ that is an expensive garment.” 

“ Especially since Gaston had not a sou with which to pay for it, 
and in the clubs, debts of this kind must be settled at once under 
pain of public expulsion. You see, therefore, that the duke’s situa- 
tion was critical. Mon Dieu! he should have applied to the family. 
Though our property is landed estate, the countess and I could have let 
him have a part, and he could have arranged for the rest. But he 
did not, or rather he would not, though Casteran recommended r it. 
He shut himself up in his club chamber, a prey to gloomy reflec- 
tions on his situation and his future. Then it was I hat Destiny in- 
tervened in the form of the future father-in-law. The latter ap- 
proached him with: ‘ M. the Duke, you owe two hundred thousand 


40 


THE MASTER OP THE FORGES. 


francs which you must procure during the day, and you cannot do 
it.’ The duke was about to cut short, very unceremoniously, such 
language on the part of this stranger, when the old man slopped him 
with: ‘These two hundred thousand francs I bring you. 1 am 
enormously rich, and it shall not be said that a man with a dowry of 
ten millions for his only daughter has allowed the name of one of the 
noblest families in the land to be compromised for a paltry thousand 
louis!’ It was a tempting sum, was it not? I do not guarantee 
absolute accuracy as to the amount, but so it was told to me. The 
unlucky De Bligny was dazzled and, dame! the cash box of his un- 
expected benefactor being offered to him, he put in his little finger, 
the hand followed, and then the rest, title inclusive.” 

There was a pause, during which the silence was onlj r broken by 
the ticking of the Louis Fourteenth clock The room had grown so 
dark that the baron could hardly discern the proudly erect head of the 
marchioness. Suddenly he heard the sound of a half-suppressed 
sob. Finding no words to console this grief that was stronger than 
pride, he seated himself on a tapestry stool by the side of the mar- 
chioness, and pressed her hand tenderly. 

“ It is nothing,” she said, softly, “ the blow was so severe — I could 
not for the moment control myself. 1 have loved Gaston so! He 
has been a son to me, he is my own blood and his wrong-doing- 
touches me doubly. I am at a loss to understand such ingratitude 
on his part; he was a generous, true hearted boy. How could he 
change so suddenly? Can the world undo in a few months the 
work of years? He was so carefully and tenderly reared, and this 
is how he requites it! Ah! the ingrate! the ingrate I” 

Much moved, the baron took from the table the ivory needle with 
which the marchioness had been crocheting, and vented his feelings 
by sticking it with nervous fingers in anil out of a ball of gray 
worsted. The marchioness recovered her composure and dried her 
eyes. 

“The point of most importance,” she went on, “is to be very 
prudent with Claire. She is proud and passionate; like her father, 
good-hearted, but willful. This blow will find her faith perfectly 
unshaken. She spoke of Gaston to me this morning; the idea that 
he could think of another woman has never presented itself to her 
mind. True and frank herself, she sees only truth and frankness in 
others. Such an undeceiving in a character like hers may have grave 
consequences.” 

“ But might not some steps be taken which would alter the situa- 
tion with respect to De Bliguy? Gaston has simply been led away, and 
by pointing out to him the gravity of his offense, he may be brought 
to reconsider his course. If you wish it 1 am at your disposal to 
make the attempt.” 

“ No,” said the marchioness, haughtily, “ we are not among those 
who humble themselves to supplicate. Our position is unfortunate, 
but it is irreproachable, and 1 shall do nothing to change it. I shall 
tell my daughter the sad truth, that rry nephew’s engagement with 
his new fiancee is irrevocable. For,” added Mme. de Beaulieu, “ a 
man so capricious is not to be counted on — he may change again.” 

“ As you think best,” said the baron. “ 1 cannot censure your 
decision, though 1 deemed it my duty to offer to bring about a re* 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


41 


conciliation. Whatever happens, though you may shed a few secret 
tears, you will not have to wear a false face, which is more than can 
be said for the duke.” 

Footsteps were heard on the grand staircase, and a sound of merry 
voices. The door opened, and like an avalanche the baroness pre- 
ceded her cousins into the dark solemn salon. 

“ Mon Dieu! you are without a light; how dismal it is here! It 
is like talking in a tomb— one can’t hear one’s self speak for the 
darkness. You are spoiling us, aunt; the baron and 1 have the 
handsomest room in the chftlcau. We shall be too well satisfied ever 
to leave it.” 

“ So much the better, my dear. But 1 think your journey must 
have given you an appethe. We will go to dinner.” 

At the same moment, as if some one had been waiting for Mme. 
de Beaulieu’s words, the doors of the dining-room were thrown 
open, where a flood of light was streaming over the old porcelain 
and massive silver plate, and a steward in grave and solemn tones 
announced dinner. 


CHAPTER Yl. 

The day after M. and Mme. de Prefont arrived at Beaulieu, and 
very seasonably with respect to creating a little interest in the exist- 
ence of the baroness, who already began to find a sojourn in the 
country virtuously wearisome, M. Derblay and his sister presented 
themselves at the chateau. 

Beneath a large tent cloth the inhabitants of Beaulieu were enjoy- 
ing one of those bright October days which is the last smile of the 
year soon to become drear and icy. In the park shrubbery, the 
birds, beguiled by the heat of the sun, had resumed tlieir summer 
songs, and on the glowing sand of the terrace two yellow-beaked 
blackbirds were disputing the crumbs of bread thrown by the mar- 
quis from the dining-room window. The marchioness, enveloped 
in her shawls, was giving a distrait ear to Claire and thp baroness, 
who talked together with their elbows resting on the balustrade. 
The baron was stretched back in a rocking-chair silently puffing 
slow whiffs from his cigar toward the blue sky, while the marquis 
was engaged in slyly sketching in his memorandum book the sil- 
houettes of the tvro young women which stood out gracefully against 
the clear horizon. 

The step of the servant on the sand walk suddenly roused them 
from the physical and mental torpor that was slowly creeping over 
them all. The marchioness opened her eyes, Claire and the baroness 
raised theirs from the valley where they had been resting, the mar- 
quis hastily thrust his note-book into his pocket. The baron only, 
chary of needless movement, was content to lower his head a trifle. 

“ Monsieur and mademoiselle Derblay inquire whether Madame 
the Marchioness receives,” said the valet. 

Claire’s brow contracted imperceptibly. The name of this man 
by whom she had an instinctive consciousness that she was being 
pursued, irritated her. She felt a sort of presentiment that this 
stranger was destined to exercise an influence over her life, and was 
full of revolt at the thought. A sudden rush of better feelings came 


42 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


over her, at the bottom of which was a confused sense of abandon- 
ment. How could M. Derblay, after his demonstrations, timid 
though they were, dare to present himself at the chateau? Bache- 
lin, it was true, had announced this visit. It had to do with a busi- 
ness agreement which was to be made, but this question of business 
was only a pretext. Was this man audacious enough to see in the 
duke's neglect an opportunity to approach her? All these thoughts 
passed confusedly through her brain in an instant, and resulted in 
an aversion for Philippe which dated from this moment. 

“ Receive him, aunt,” cried ttie baroness; “ 1 am curious to see 
this iron master. He will amuse us, and we will have his sister 
give us the village gossip. She wears the costume of the country, 
no doubt. How droll it will be!” 

“ It is my intention to receive him, my dear,” replied the mar- 
chioness, smiling, and turning to the servant: “ Show Monsieur 
and Mademoiselle Derblaj r here.” 

There was silence for a moment, and then the large glass door of 
the salon opened, and Philippe and Suzanne appeared on the steps, 
a ray of sunshine lighting up Philippe’s dark manly features. His 
sister, in a simple dark blue dress, pressed timidly against him, her 
face beaming with emotion, and tier large eyes fastened on her 
brother with earnest solicitude, anxious to inspire him with courage. 

The marchioness rose and advanced to meet her guests. Philippe 
bowed respectfully, stammering some disjointed words, whose con- 
fusion brought a smile to the lips of the high-born dame. Then, 
to relieve his embarrassment, she took Suzanne’s hand with charm- 
ing grace: 

“ Tell your brother, my child, that he is welcome to Beaulieu.” 

“ My sister, Madame the Marchioness,” said Philippe, raising his 
head, “lias grown up with me without the needful counsels and 
cares of a mother. She could not find a better substitute for them 
than with you, if you would kindly take an interest in her.” 

Mine, de Beaulieu looked more attentively at Suzanne. “ Come, 
let me embrace you, my dear child,” and touching her blonde locks 
with her lips: “Here is peace signed between us,” she said to 
Philippe. “ Your sins are forgiven, neighbor. Now let me present 
you to my family.” 

And designating Octave, who approached: “The Marquis de 
Beaulieu, my son.” 

“ No introduction is necessary,” said Octave, smiling and offering 
Philippe his hand. “Monsieur Derblay and 1 have already met. 
Diable! neighbor, you have good limbs; your hares don’t run as 
fast as you when it is not your intention to be caught up with.” 

“Excuse me, Monsieur the Marquis,” replied Philippe, smiling, 
“ you seemed not very well affected toward me, and 1 doubted the 
welcome 1 should receive if 1 betrayed my incognito.” 

“ Parbleu! I know of you, then, only through our disagreement; 
but now the case is different, and we shall be good friends, I hope. 
"Will you be kind enough to present me to Mademoiselle Derblay?” 
he added, approaching Suzanne with empressemeni. 

Mme. de Beaulieu, turning toward the baroness and Claire, said: 

“ Monsieur Derblay, the iron-master of Pont-Avesnes, the Bar- 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


43 


oness de Prefont, my niece, and Mademoiselle de Beaulieu, my 
daughter/’ 

A hot flame overspread Philippe’s face. Without daring to raise 
his eyes to Claire, he bowed so profoundly that he appeared about 
to sink on his knees. 

“ My dear, he is a gentleman,” whispered the baroness to Claire. 
“ I pictured him with bare arms, a leather apron, and filings in his 
hair. Bless me, he has the Legion of Honor, and the baron hasn’t! 
It is true that under this wretched regime— how extraordinary! He 
doesn’t handle the hammer then. Look at him, it is incredible— he 
is very good-looking, what magnificent eyes!” 

Claire, who had turned away, now raised her eyes and rested 
them almost sternly on Philippe. She was secretly indignant, and 
would have been glad to greet the audacious stranger with words 
that were cutting and otfensive. His strong, squarely built figure 
she found vulgar, everything about him revolted her, even to his 
severelv somber dress. And in a rapid vision the duke appeared 
before her with his elegant, rather slender figure, his elongated feat- 
ures, chestnut hair, blue eyes, refined mouth, and blonde mustache. 
Between Philippe in person and the phantom of the duke, the con- 
trast was complete. The one well embodied in his robust person 
the healthful vigor of the bourgeoise, the other was the finished 
type of the delicate, enervated grace of the noblesse. 

Philippe stood speechless under Claire’s gaze. His feet seemed to 
have taken root in the earth. Thoroughly disconcerted, and anxious 
to escape the hostile scrutiny of those eyes, he attempted to move a 
step or two in the direction of the marquis, who was talking with 
Suzanne, that he might attach himself to some one more kindly dis- 
posed; but he could not. He glanced mechanically at his own per- 
son, and he saw himself clumsy, coarse, inelegant. He drew bitter 
comparisons between himself and the two young men before him in 
the easy grace of their well-made clothing; and his black frock coat 
appeared to him hideous. He must be grotesque, with his high- 
crowned hat in his hand, he thought, and he suffered torments. He 
would gladly have given ten years of his life to have in that moment 
the careless ease of the baron and Octave. How could Claire ever 
forget the aspect under which he had first presented himself to her? 
She would preserve always an unfavorable impression of him. He 
measured the distance between Mile, de Beaulieu, even ruined in 
fortune, and the iron-master of Pont-Avesnes, and despairingly re- 
proached himself with having raised his eyes to a height which his 
ambition could never hope to reach. 

The voice of Octave roused him from his stupor. 

“We have some one here, Monsieur Derblay, who is, 1 think, 
capable of entering the lists with you on the manufacturing question 
— my cousin, the Baron de Prefont, a savant — ” 

“Say a student, my dear Octave,” interrupted the baron mod- 
estly. “ The field of science is too large for me to make any claim 
to explore more than a small corner of it.” 

Philippe, recovering himself, sought Mile, de Beaulieu’s eyes, but 
she had moved away and was walking along the terrace by the side 
of the baroness, striking with the end of her red silk umbrella the 
roses of a twining bush that interlaced the balustrade. 


44 THE MASTER OP THE FORGES. 

The iron- master, with a sigh, turned away from the captivating 
vision. 

“ It is not the first time,” he said, “ that I have heard of Mon- 
sieur de Prefont Is not monsieur the author of a valuable work on 
cementation? I have read with a lively interest your treatise ad- 
dressed to the Academy of Science.” 

“Oh! oh! baron,” cried Octave, “ you did not expect to find that 
your fame had reached our mountains. You are on the road to 
celebrity, your name has penetrated the heart of the country, and to 
your old device, Fortin gladio , must be added, et pennd. Don’t 
fancy 1 am laughing at you; 1 would emulate you if 1 could.” 

But the words of the marquis had little concern for the baron. 
Delighted to encounter an appreciative listener, he launched into 
difficult disquisitions on the methods of meltingsteel, from which the 
intervention of the baroness herself would not have diverted him. 
His English impassiveness gave place to a most expansive freedom. 
He tapped his hands in illustration of the noise made bv machines, 
and, waxing warm, gesticulating, took M. Derblay by the arm as if 
to make sure that his auditor would not escape him. 

But Philippe had no wish to free himself from his interlocutor’s 
aggressive familiarity. On the contrary, he encouraged it, thankful 
to discover an unexpected ally in this house where he felt himself 
so ill at ease. And the baron continued his outpourings, addressing 
Philippe as “ my dear sir,” which he would not have done under 
other circumstances at the end of a three months’ acquaintance. 
Their common scientific pursuits had proved an instantaneous bond 
of union, like that of freemasons who have exchanged mysterious 
signs in touching hands. 

“ And you extract the ore yourself? How interesting your opera- 
tions must be! I shall visit your workshops at Pont- Avesnes to- 
morrow. You must employ a large number of men?” 

“ Two thousand.” 

“ Admirable! And how many furnaces?” 

“Ten; the fires of which are never extinguished. You will see 
my pestle hammer. It weighs forty thousand kilos., and is worked 
with such precision that it could be made to fall on an egg without 
breaking it.” 

“ With such an instrument as that you are a rival of Creuzot.” 

“ Precisely; we do on a small scale what he does on a large one.” 

“lam truly fortunate to have met you, my dear sir. I had in- 
tended setting off with the baroness for Switzerland at the end of 
the week, but, au didble ! this journey' 1 shall remain, you under- 
stand? Have you a laboratory? Yes! You are a chemist? Ex- 
cellent!” And taking Philippe by the arm the baron began pacing 
the terrace. 

“ Ah! what is the matter with my husband?” exclaimed the bar- 
oness, who approached with Claire. 

“ The matter, my dear cousin,” replied Octave, “ is that he has 
mounted his favorite hobby-horse and taken Monsieur Derblay on 
behind.” 

“ Then they will soon be at a distance from here, if the baron is 
not stopped.” 

“ And why stop him?” said the marquis. “ Do you object to 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


45 


this familiarity between a descendant of the chevaliers, representing 
ten centuries of warlike greatness, and Monsieur Derblay, represent- 
ing only the one century of steam, gas, and electricity? For my 
part, 1 admire the sudden intimacy of these two men, founded as it 
is on a mutual esteem for the two things that make a country great 
— glory in the past and progress in the present.” 

“ Octave, my friend,” said the baroness,' “ any one may see that 
you area lawyer; you talk well. But allow me to say that such 
sentiments are strangely democratic from your father’s son.” 

“Well, cousin,” he replied, with a laugh, “democracy is over- 
running us; we will try to form an aristocracy in the democracy by 
taking mediocrity for a level, and amassing whatever there is of 
merit above it. We will ihus found the aristocracy of talent, the 
only one that is worthy to succeed that of birth. In so doing we 
will imitate our ancestors. Do you imagine that the founders of 
our houses were nobles? It was their courage that gave them their 
pre-eminence over other men. The first of the Prefonts was named 
Gaucher, which was no slur on liis ability, 1 fancy, for it is said he 
was a redoubtable soldier. Advanced for his prowess and enriched 
by his booty, on his return from Palestine lie took the name of his 
estates, and it is, thanks to Captain Gaudier, that you are a baroness. 
Why should we deny to men who are not inferior to him the right 
to come out from the multitude? Formerly it was, Honor to the 
bravest; now it is, Station for the most intelligent.” 

“ Well reasoned and well spoken, Monsieur the Marquis. I beg 
Madame the Baroness to pardon me if 1 take sides against her,” said 
a sonorous voice from behind a clump of shrubbery. 

And Bachelin, very red, his hat in his hand, his well-stuffed 
leather case as usual under his arm, appeared in a corner of the 
terrace. 

“ Ah! Bachelin, your arrival is a propos ,” exclaimed the baroness 
gayly. “You limbs of the law all belong to the Tiers-Etat. The 
Revolution was made for your benefit. But you emerged like a 
devil from a surprise-box. Where do you come from?” 

“ I crossed the park. I came from Yarenne, and have left my 
cabriolet at the little gate. But pardon—” 

And turning toward Mme. de Beaulieu, who approached with 
Suzanne; 

“ My best respects, Madame the Marchioness. Mademoiselle 
Suzanne, my compliments; how warm it is to-day; I arrived in 
haste; I wanted to be here at the same time with Monsieur Derblay. 
But an important deed to sign detained me — a deed that has caused 
me great regret. It w T as for the sale of Yarenne.” 

“Ah! the D’Estrelles have at last found a purchaser?” inquired 
the marquis. 

“Yes, a purchaser,” sighed Bachelin, “and a pretty price he 
pays for it. lie was bent on this particular estate, and has given at 
least a iliird more than could have been realized even by subdivid- 
ing it. He claims the honor of knowing the family of Madame the 
Marchioness. That doubtless is his reason for seeking the neighbor- 
hood of Beaulieu.” 

“ May I ask his name?” said the marchioness, indifferently. 

“ Monsieur Moulinet.” 


46 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


Bachelin little anticipated the effect the announcement of the 
name of the purchaser of Yarcnne would produce. Mile, de Beau- 
lieu started suddenly from her seat, while the baroness, clapping her 
hands together quickly, exclaimed, “ Atheuafs’ father!” 

“ True, Monsieur Moulinet had with him a young lady whom he 
called Atlienai's,” added the notary. “The estate was purchased 
for her, and is to make part of her dower when she marries. It has a 
present revenue of thirty thousand livres, and the leases are sus- 
ceptible of increase.” 

“Ah! it is too much! these are to be your neighbors!” resumed 
the baroness. “And Monsieur Moulinet is to play lord castellan! 
he will have the air of his gardener!” 

“ Is he reputed very rich?” asked Bachelin. 

“Enormously,” replied the baroness, “ridiculously rich. See, 
Octave, here is where j'our theories Ipad, my dear. Here is your 
aristocracy of intelligence. Monsieur Moulinet is one of its finest 
representatives. The D’Estrelles, who have given France ten gen- 
erals, two admirals, a marshal, and several ministers, the portraits 
of whose ancestors are hanging at Versailles, and whose names figure 
on the principal pages of our history, are driven from their chateau 
by a chocolate-maker who has not rendered his countiy a centime’s 
worth of service, and whose name figures only on the prospectuses 
he has had distributed at the street corners. There is your democ- 
racy. Don’t speak to me of a country where such abominations exist. 
It is utterly lost.” 

“ Calm yourself, baroness,” said Octave. “ I agree with you in 
regretting that the D’Estrelles should be dispossessed of their cha- 
teau, but where was the remedy? Should Monsieur Moulinet’s 
money have been taken to enrich our friends? That would be a 
slightly arbitrary measure. Except to torture him into the bargain, 
1 hardly see what could be more unjustifiable.” 

“You are insufferable,” exclaimed Mtue. de Prefont, “you are 
merely trying to tease me and do not think a word tliat-yo^i say.” 

And taking the arm of the marchioness, she advanced to meet the 
baron, who was approaching with Philippe. Claire remained be- 
hind. This sudden apparition of M. Derblay and Atlienai's Mouli- 
net in her hitherto strictly circumscribed life vexed her. Reared in 
a. world which the pride of its inhabitants has surrounded with im- 
passable barriers, this encroachment on her seclusion affected her as 
a painful surprise. The reception of M. Derbhy on a footing of 
equality at the chateau made the old mansion seem as common in 
her eyes as the public streets. She resolved to set her face against 
this vulgar facility with which the chateau wuis disposed to lavish 
itself upon strangers, and seeing them all smiling and affable, she be- 
came severe and icy 

There seemed a certain something mysterious and ominous in the 
surrounding atmosphere. The prolonged silence of the duke dis- 
quieted her more than she was prepared to allow, w r hile an attitude 
of constraint, sudden relapses into silence when she approached, 
fitful demonstrations of tenderness, made her vaguely uneasy. It 
was her nature to face a contingency resolutely, but in this case she 
dared not. Dreading to learn that the duke was untrue to her, re- 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


47 

coiling from a certainty of the unworthiness of the man she loved, 
she abstained from questionings and preserved a torturing silence. 

Philippe saw her haughty and impassible, receiving his timid 
homage with ill-concealed disdain, and taking only sufficient notice 
of his presence to make him aware that it was distasteful to her. 
Suzanne, quite out of countenance, having vainly tried by a few 
pleasant words to relax the contracted lips of Mile, de Beaulieu, had 
finally taken refuge with Bachelin, who covered her with the wing 
of his paternal affection. The politenesses of the marquis found her 
sad and discouraged. The illusions which she had created for her- 
self had vanished in an instant, and she saw her brother’s happiness 
seriously imperiled. But although her instinctive good sense en- 
abled her to measure the distance which separated Philippe from the 
haughty and imposing Claire, she would not despair, but with the 
tenacious faith of a child trusted to Providence to remove the obsta- 
cles in some way which she could not anticipate. 

The marchioness, still under the influence of Bachelin ’s eulogies, 
delighted, too, with the baron’s enthusiasm for her neighbor, had 
gone so far as to invite Philippe to remain to dinner when an an- 
nihilating glance from her daughter led her to fear that she had been 
over- hasty. But a moment’s reflection satisfied her that Claire’s 
repugnance arose from a fit of unsociableness, and M. Derblay re- 
lieved her of all uncertainties by promptly and politely declining, 
urging pressing business as a pretext. 

In reality he was impatient to get away. The tw T o hours that he 
had passed on the Beaulieu terrace, listening to the baron but not 
understanding him, with hii brow clasped, as it were, in a vise, 
and his mind racked with painful thoughts, had been hours of tort- 
ure. This interview, so longed for, which lie had looked forward 
to as a blissful moment in his life, had been one of the most trying 
he had ever experienced; he took his leave of his hosts of the cha- 
teau, depressed and disheartened, and ready to say farewell to his 
ambitious dreams. 

Claire appeared to attach no greater importance to his departure 
than she had done to his arrival. She continued disdainful !} 7 silent, 
responding to his respectful bow with a slight inclination of her 
head, such as she would have accorded to one of her tradespeople; 
and Philippe’s retreat would have been singularly like a rout if the 
allies whom he had secured had not given him much needed assist- 
ance. The baron showed on this occasion to what degree a passion 
can modify character. lie accompanied Philippe to the gate and 
^ shook hands with him with the heartiness and unrestraint of travel- 
ing companions who have made the tour of France together. The 
marquis accompanied Suzanne, and proved by the prodigality of his 
pOlite attentions to the brother the interest which the sister had in- 
spired; while Bachelin, with his ever-present leather case, brought 
up the rear. At the little park gate was stationed his cabriolet, the 
old gray horse attached to it philosophically browsing on the leaves 
of a filbert -tree, while awaiting the rei urn of his master. Bachelin 
invited Philippe and Suzanne to take their seats, while the baron 
carried politeness so far as to hold the bridle of the nag — a needless 
precaution. The marquis exchanged a parting smile with Suzanne; 



48 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


and as the notary touched the horse with his whip, he and the baron 
cried with one accord, “ au revoir!” 

Philippe in a trembling voice responded with a “ never!” happily 
lost in the noise of the wheels. Tlie notary turned suddenly: 

“Never?” he repeated. “JNever! Ah! my good friend, have 
you lost your senses? And why will you never return to Beaulieu?” 

Philippe, thus questioned, made no further attempt to contain 
himself, but gave free vent to the bitter flood of his lost illusions. 

Why should he prepare for himself unmerited humiliations by 
persevering in a too plainly hopeless enterprise? It were better to 
abandon it at once before the mischief had struck its roots deeper. 

“And what, my friend, did you expect?” asked Bachelin, in a 
tone of ironj r . “ From the violence of your disappointment, 1 am 
led to infer that you had great expectations. Did you think Made- 
moiselle de Beaulieu would make advances to you like a grisette to a 
student? In the world which you have just entered, feelings are 
manifested w T itli much delicacy and reserve. There are no violent 
enthusiasms or openly betrayed antipathies. You have obtained 
incredible results on your first attempt; the men have been enrapt- 
ured; the marquis is your friend, and the baron will prepare your 
way for you. The marchioness, catching the general infection, in- 
vites you to dinner the first day, as though you w 7 ere a friend of 
twenty years’ standing; and yet you complain! You are surely the 
most unreasonable of mortals. Mademoiselle Claire was a trifle cold, 
1 grant. You expected her, 1 suppose, to spring into your arms. 
Ah! you travel too fast! Yesterday you dreamed of no happiness 
greater than to be near her for a few moments; you have just passed 
two hours in her company, and you utter exclamations of despair, 
upbraiding destiny. And you will not return there. You are mad! 
Firstly, you could not but return without appearing very ill-bred; 
and then, would you have it in your pow r erto abstain from going to 
offer your devotions at the feet of the adorable Claire? Ah! friend, 
you are very happy to love; you are young; weep, suffer, the world 
lias nothing better. Believe an old man who has received many con- 
fidences for forty years, and whose only regret now is—” 

Bachelin, with an animated face and kindling eyes, was about to 
let slip some confession w T ortk recording, but his eyes fell on Su- 
zanne, who, while attentively listening, w r as stripping the petals from 
a beautiful rose, gathered by the marquis on the terrace of Beaulieu. 
The notary stopped suddenly, and whipped up his nag, which was 
deliberately trotting, with its head between its legs. 

“ Take my advice, my friend; return to Beaulieu. Mademoiselle 
Claire will soon have cruel trials to undergo, and events may singu- 
larly modify her attitude toward you. Ah! you have already ceased 
to say: ‘Never!’ To-morrow you will say ‘ Forever 1’ But here 
we are at the Pont-Avesnes. 1 will not go in with you. I have 
pressing work for my clerks. A good appetite to you, and may you 
see everything rose colored!” 

And after giving a parting grasp of Philippe's hand, and gallant- 
ly touching Suzanne’s fingers with his lips, Bachelin drove rapidly 
down the principal street of the village, and disappeared in the angle 
of the great square. 

Philippe heaved a sigh, opened the little gate of the court, and, 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


49 

with head bent downward, followed his sister, who respected his si- 
lent grief, into the house, which, two hours before, he had quitted 
with a heart palpitating with eager hope. 


CHAPTER VII. 

The Chateau of Varenne is one of the handsomest feudal struct- 
ures now existing in France. Built by Enguerrand d’Estrelles, 
who signalized himsef at Bouvines by raising King Philip Augustus 
when unhorsed by a Flemish pikeman, it had been honored by har- 
boring under its sharp- pointed turrets the Emperor Charles V., on 
his return from the siege of Nancy. Demolished by the cannon of 
Turenne during a brush between the illustrious marshal and the 
Austrian Imperialists, previous to his bloody campaign in the Pala- 
tinate, the donjon of Varenne continued in ruins during the reigns 
of Louis XV. and Louis XVI. 

The Revolution could accomplish no further destruction, and the 
citizens of Besangon were forced to content themselves with cutting- 
down the forests and robbing its stones. The manor house, drawn 
upon like a quarry, furnished the materials of more than twenty 
buildings, and a dealer in old metal had made his fortune by pillag- 
ing three hundred thousand kilos of lead roofing which he sold open- 
ly- 

It was these organized robberies, strange to tell, that preserved the 
d’Estrelles from ruin. The commune of Besangon could not dis- 
pose of the estates as public property, because no one dared incur 
the ill-will of the peasantry and citizens, who had come to look upon 
it as their conquered spoils. 

Under the Directory, the d’Estrelles were permitted by Barras to 
return to France. Although their property had been sacked, they 
■were not dispossessed, and they established themselves in a guard- 
house after restoring its doors and windows. With the residue of 
their estates carefully administered during the Empire, they suc- 
ceeded in reconstructing a fortune which enabled them to return to 
Paris during the Restoration, and to make a good figure there. 
Under the monarchy of July the last of the d’Estrelles married a 
daughter of the banker Claude Chretien, created a baron for serv- 
ices rendered to the civil list, 'who brought him as dowry an income 
of two hundred thousand francs. 

This noble had a passion for antiquities. The chateau was re- 
stored at vast expense to its former condition; the high walls 
crowned with embattled earthworks, the superb towers with their 
curiously sculptured gargoyles once more reared their heads above 
the great trees of the park. The furniture was renewed with ex- 
quisite taste. 

Preparing the fashion, M. d’Estrelles procured under-cut credence 
tables, church woodw-ork, the chefs d ’oeuvres of image-cutters of the 
middle ages, and marvelous Flemish tapestry. 

Varenne became a museum of those artistic treasures, which were 
then disdained, and which are now so eagerly sought after. 

In the eyes of its impassioned collector, it had become transformed 
into a paradise of antiquities. 


50 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


On liis death, M. d’Estrelles left his estate, completely re-estab- 
lished, to his son, a young lieutenant who already had found occa- 
sion to employ counsel. In four years, it was mortgaged for a 
fourth of its value, and its treasures of art were on the eve of being 
sold in Paris at public auction, when a purchaser presented himself 
in the person of M. Moulinet. 

The manufacturer, in pursuance of his object of a marriage be- 
tween the duke and his daughter, had conceived at first the idea of 
buying De Bligny’s estate in Touraine. But his future son-in-law’s 
ancestral chateau liad, in passing from one master to another, come 
into possession of a rich crockery dealer of Blois, who disdained 
Moulinet’s offers, tempting though they vrere. 

Failing this, Athenai's’ father had fallen back upon Varenne, and, 
all things considered, was well content with his acquisition. 

Its proximity to Beaulieu had made one of its recommendations. 
Moulinet would thus find himself enfamille, and the opportunities 
that would arise for neighborly association would be altogether ac- 
ceptable. He had been a faithful executor of his daughter’s will in 
the choice of her husband; and, without having measured fully the 
perfidy of Athenai's’ covert designs, he was prepared to encounter a 
certain degree of reluctance on the part of the duke’s relatives to es 
tablish friendly relations with him. 

Gaston was to have married his cousin; but it pleased the ambi- 
tious fathei to view this engagement as a mere childish pastime, and 
to refuse to admit that any profound attachment on the part of one 
of them, at least, could have been the result of this youthful be- 
trothal. 

He had himself, when a little druggist’s clerk in the Rue des 
Lombards, been engaged to the thirteen-year-old daughter of a car- 
penter in the Rue de la Ferronnerie. The carpenter’s daughter had 
been forgotten by him, and had married a butcfier of the Place des 
Innocents. He had seen her one day, stout and red, weighing chops 
in large copper scales, while he, Moulinet, inhabited a tine hotel in 
the Boulevard Malesherbes. 

What possible relation could arise between this robust butcher’s 
wife and the judge of the Tribunal de Commerce? 

It belonged to the sphere of destiny to rectify the foolishness of 
such projects. In becoming separated, the/ had each found their 
proper and appropriate place. Was not the case of Mile, de Beau- 
lieu and the duke precisely similar? 

United, they must have been condemned to a life of mediocrity. 
Separated, each would be well rid of the affair. Mile, de Beaulieu 
would, without doubt, find a suitable settlement in life. He, Moul- 
inet, would even assist her to do so himself. 

But the argument that outweighed every other was that such was 
his pleasure. 

In the Duke of Bligny he had found the son-in-law to his mind. 
Be, a man who had compelled fortune, was not a man to be thwart- 
ed in the accomplishment of anything he might chance to set his 
mind upon. His daughter was to be a duchess; to that he had made 
up his mind, and. a duchess she would be. 

The grandeurs of Yarenne tickled his vanity immensely. Its em- 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 51 

battled towers, its machicolated sentry-boxes, the belfry that tolled 
the hours with solemn strokes, enchanted the parvenu. 

Swelling with importance, the rich merchant felt himself to be in 
his rightful place in the high hall of the guards around whose walls 
hung the armorial bearings of the allies of the ancient house of Es- 
trelles. It was with ineffable satisfaction that he retired to rest 
where the conqueror of Pavia had slept, and rolled his plebeian per- 
son on the pillared bedstead elevated upon a splendid dais, and 
hung with curtains of point de Venise. He repeated incessantly, 
with emphatic complacency: “ My clock was formerly wound up 
by Charles V;” and believed very sincerely that the great emperor 
had spent his life regulating clocks, as he did, during liis latter years, 
at Saint Just, to beguile the ennui that consumed his great mind. 

Athenai's, less influenced by the delights of gratified vanity, saw 
in the chateau only a dangerous fortress, whence she might swoop 
down upon her foe. The great advantage which Varenne possessed 
in her eyes was that it reared its proud and splendid turrets at hardly 
two leagues distance from Beaulieu. 

From thence she dominated tin* situation, and might, in alLrsecur- 
ity, await her hour to strike surely the girl wiiom she hated with all 
the strength of her nature. 

The day after her establishment there, which was the day fol- 
lowing the signing of the deed drawn up by Bachelin, she had 
adroitly informed herself respecting the situation. She knew' that 
the baroness was with Claire, but an adversary the more was no 
ground for intimidation. On the contrary she found satisfaction in 
the thought of triumphing over the proud Mile, de Beaulieu under 
the eyes of Mme. de Prefont. 

Moulinet and Athenai’s had now been for three days inmates of 
the chateau. After a repealed and detailed tour of his park, 
kitchens and outbuildings, the purchaser of Varenne was beginning 
to find himself ennuye in his splendid estate when a dispatch reached 
him announcing the coming of the duke, sooner than had been 
anticipated. This premature arrival vexed Athenai's greatly. She 
feared that the duke would be in a mood which would countera< t 
her projects. It was without doubt' Gaston’s intention to deal 
carefully with the injured susceptibilities of his family, and any 
step on her part which would wound Mile, de Beaulieu would meet 
with strenuous opposition from him. Athenai's resolved, therefore, 
to act before the duke could interfere with her. He was to arrive 
that daj r at three. Not a moment, therefore, v r as to be lost. 

Moulinet, still crumpling the dispatch mechanially in his fingers, 
was pacing the superb terrace extending along the front of the 
chateau, when his daughter in a delicious toilet came toward him, 
disguising the vehemence of her resolve under an assumption of 
carelessness. 

“ Well, papa, we must go to-day to Beaulieu,” she said with a 
smile. 

“ Why to-day?” asked Moulinet, in surprise. “ The duke is 
coming, would "it not be well to wait for him? We shall be better 
received under his auspices, and he will present us himself to his 
family.” 

“ It is precisely what I do not wish,” replied Athenai’s, preserv- 


52 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


ing a tranquil countenance. “ There is no need of any one to medi- 
ate between Claire and me, and she would naturally be astonished 
not to have heard from myself of my approaching marriage. And 
then Monsieur deBlignyis in a somewhat false position with respect 
to us, and will thank us for sparing him the difficulties of the first 
interview. The situation once, clearly defined, there will be no re- 
turning to former ideas, and all will go well. You do not fear to 
be ill received?” 

“ 111 received!” exclaimed Moulinet, raising himself to his full 
height, and plunging his hands vehemently into his pantaloon’s 
pockets. “ A man iu my position, a former judge of the Tribunal 
de Commerce, is ill received nowhere. If w did not live under a gov- 
ernment of nothing at all, and if there existed a court at the Tuile- 
ries, understand, my daughter, 1 would be perfectly at home 
there. Ill received! By persons who have perhaps not more than 
sixty thousand livres income! It would be a curious spectacle! 
Wait awhile! I will order the grand carriage and full-dress liveries.” 

“ No, papa, undress livery and a victoria. M e want no display 
of ofir wealth. The richer we are, the more modest we must be. 
The}' would laugh at our luxury, they will admire our simplicity.’' 

“ You thinks so?” asked M. Moulinet, in a tone of regret. “ It 
seems to me the short trousers and silk stockings would have made 
a good impression, but 1 leave it to you. You are a girl of taste, 
and know the ways of good society. Get ready, while I go to the 
stables and give orders.” 

A quarter of an hour later Athenai’s and her father, drawn by 
two vigorous coach-horses, were rolling over the dusty Pont-Avesnes 
road. 

Forgetting the resolutions formed in a moment of discouragement, 
Philippe had returned to the chateau. In truth, the baron had 
allowed him no opportunity to retire into his solitude. This imi- 
tator of Louis XVI., in his passion for the mechanic arts, had made 
his appearance at the manufactory the morning after Philippe’s visit 
to Beaulieu, and removing his coat and rolling up his sleeves had 
ended by making it necessary for the iron-master to provide him 
with a change of clothing, and detain him to dinner. How, after 
this, was he to avoid returning with him to Beaulieu? Philippe 
found such good reasons in excuse for his weakness, that he could 
see, without displeasure, the spot where he had passed two hours of 
agony. Claire was as before cold and indiflerent, but her haughty 
and disdainful attitude, instead of disconcerting the iron-master, 
had this time the effect of arousing him, and the more Mile, de 
Beaulieu affected to ignore him, the more he felt incited to try and 
compel her notice of him. 

The marchioness was a woman whom nature had endowed with a 
perfect evenness of temper. Such as she had been yesterday, she 
was found to-morrow. Philippe had won her good graces from the 
outset; she welcomed him with her accustomed affability, placing 
him quite at his ease, while the baroness displayed for him the graces 
of her sprightly and volatile wit. She found him agreeable without 
effort, and interesting without pretension, pronounced him as solid 
in mind as in physique, and honored him with her peculiar esteem. 
While Moulinet and Athenal's were on the road to Beaulieu, the 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 53 

baroness, Octave, Suzanne, and the baron were engaged in an ani- 
mated game of croquet, the battle-field being the lawn situated be- 
tween the outbuildings and the entrance gate, in the middle of the 
large court. Through the open windows the blows of the mallets 
and exclamations of the players reached the marchioness and Claire, 
who remained in the salon indifferent to the contest. Philippe and 
Bachelin, constituted judges, followed the progress of the balls, and 
on a disputed point arising measured the distances with a rule. 

Victory seemed inclining to the baron and Suzanne, when a carriage, 
which stopped before the gate, suddenly arrested the attention of the 
players. At the same moment the entry bell vigorously sounded 
by the valet left no doubt that guests had arrived. 

In a second the players made their escape to the drawing-room like 
a flock of sheep, and a servant approached the marchioness with a 
card. The latter adjusting her glasses glanced at the square of 
bristol board, and raising her head with an air of astonishment, 
read: 

“Monsieur and Mile. Moulinet. ” There was a moment of 
silence, all seeming to feel that the event was serious. The baroness 
first recovered herself, and striking her hands together, murmured: 

“ This is too much!” 

“ What do these people come here for?” asked Mme. de Beaulieu, 
quietly. 

No one replying, Bachelin assumed the place of spokesman. 

“ Monsieur and Mademoiselle Moulinet having established them- 
selves in the country, Madame the Marchioness, no doubt think 
it behooves them to pay neighborly visits. That is the custom, you 
know. The Beaulieu family is one of the oldest and most impor- 
tant in the province, and Monsieur Moulinet claims, also, does he 
not, that his daughter knew Mademoiselle Claire?” 

“ Of course, aunt,” exclaimed the baroness, impetuously; “you 
do not intend to encourage advances from the Moulinet family. 
What is there in common between this person and you? He is one 
of the vulgarest of men, and his daughter, 1 forewarn you, is one of 
the most dangerous little pests on the face of the earth. These par- 
venus expect to purchase acquaintances as they have done their 
chateau, with their millions. 1 hope you will resist this invasion of 
your chateau. ” 

“ I think, chb'e amie ;” said the baron, quietly; “ that your aunt 
knows how to act and does not need your advice.” 

The marchioness shook her head hesitatingly. Evidently she 
wa3 much annoyed. Her indolent nature held in abhorrence all 
complications and difficulties. Turning to her daughter who had 
remained silent as though indifferent to the point in dispute: 

“ What do you think, Claire?” 

“ I think, mottier,” she replied, quietly, “ that it would be rather 
difficult to refuse ourselves to Monsieur and Mademoiselle Mouiinet 
without some pretext. We cannot plead absence, for they have seen 
them all playing in the court, and ourselves at the window. Simply 
to decline receiving them would be to respond by a discourtesy to 
what was intended as a politeness — which I think unworthy of us. 
We will admit them to-day, and let that be the end of it. Bo you 
not agree with me?” 


54 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


“ Yes, my child, you are right. Octave, say that we will receive 
them.” 

In another moment, M. and Mile. Moulinet were ushered into the 
grand salon. 

In every woman there is the making of an actress. Despite the 
keenness of her emotion and the rapid beatings of her heart, Athenais 
got over the first embarrassment by advancing with animated smiles 
and throwing her arms around Mile, de Beaulieu as though she had 
been her dearest friend, exclaiming: 

“ Ah! my dear Claire, how happy I am to see you!” 

Mile, de Beaulieu’s astonishment at this effusion w r as so great 
that, despite her customary presence of mind, she could find not a 
word to say. Meanwhile Alhenai's turned toward the marchioness, 
and bowing with modest deference: 

“It is a great pleasure to me, Madame the Marchioness, to find 
myself a near neighbor of Mademoiselle de Beaulieu. Since I have 
known her, and it has been long,” she added with the most affec- 
tionate smile to Claire, “ I have made it my rule to imitate her. 
And 1 think it would be difficult to find a more perfect model.” 

“ To imitate me only?” said Claire, quietly. “ You are modest.” 

“And for the first time,” murmured the baroness, who ap- 
proached. 

On seeing Mme. de Prefont, Atlienai's’ joy appeared to know no 
bounds. But Mile, de Moulinet did not risk throwing her arms 
around the uncertain Sophie. She had too often in former days 
been wounded by her little hands, and for aught she knew it might 
result in an open affront which would overturn her well -constructed 
projects, and snap all the threads of her skillfully twisted woof. So 
the prudent Athenais contented herself with a vigorous hand-shak- 
ing that made her bracelets rattle, disguising this comparative cool- 
ness by the excess of her affectionate protestations. This was a 
double pleasure! her dear d’Hennecourt also! Not having been 
invited to her marriage, she thought fit to ignore it, and to give 
Sophie her maiden name. The latter put a stop to this adroit equiv- 
ocation by presenting the baron, whereupon Athenais gracefully 
complimented him upon his fortunate choice. 

Maneuvering over this battle-field, strewn with obstacles and am- 
buscades, with the skill and self-possession of a consummate tactician, 
Mile. Moulinet paralyzed her adversaries by her audacity, stupefied 
her father, and gave all present a high conception of her cleverness. 
Sophie and Claire saw in her an enemy much more formidable than 
they could have anticipated. In the course of two years she had 
developed surprisingly. In person she was quite pretty, rather 
short, with a tendency to embonpoint which lent her a deceiving but 
attractive air of nonchalance, with jet-black hair and expressive 
blue eyes. Her hands were gloved with peau de Suede reaching as 
high as the ruches of her tight elbow sleeves, while her very short 
dress revealed feet the clumsiness of which betrayed her plebeian 
origin. On a close view T she was rather vulgar, but a first glance 
would have disposed one to pronounce her pleasing. 

Moulinet confided to himself in silent ecstasy that his daughter 
was incontestably a superior young lady and a born duchess. In 
the excess of his admiration he became quite affected. Could his 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


55 


poor deceased wife have seen Athenais, how delighted and astonished 
would she have been; and his conjugal emotion brought a tear into 
the eye of the former judge of the Tribunal de Commerce, which he 
wiped away undisguisedly, drawing forth a handkerchief the size of 
a napkin. A. terrible glance from Athenais recalled him to a sense 
of his situation, and gave him to understand that in this world 
which he had entered every thing was to be done with moderation. 

Bending toward the marchioness and holding his hat on his heart: 

“Mademoiselle de Beaulieu and madame,” lie said, designating 
the baroness, “ were schoolmates of my daughter at the Sacre Cceur. 
1 have always congratulated myself, and now more than ever, upon 
having placed her in this establishment — the best in Paris — where 
young girls may receive a first-class education, and form advantageous 
associations. ’ ’ 

The marchioness smiled. “ So I observe,” she said, with a shade 
of irony which was quite lost upon the manufacturer, but which 
made Athenais turn pale with impotent rage. 

“ As for myself,” continued Moulinet, encouraged, “ I am grate- 
ful for your kindness in permitting me to pay my compliments to 
you. It was due to } 7 ou on various grounds, first as a new comer 
to this neighborhood where 1 have purchased an estate — a very con- 
siderable estate — Yarenne, of the D’Estrelles. Not that I particularly 
desired it, but my daughter, who understands these things, assured 
me that, with a fortune like mine, an estate was necessary. And 
let me acknowledge to you, madame, that while in opinions 1 am 
liberal, as to lelations I am thoroughly an aristocrat.” 

And Moulinet, filliping the lapel of his white waistcoat with 
eighteenth-century grace, addressed an ingratiating smile around 
the room. 

The stupendous betise of the former Judge de commerce quite over- 
came Athenais who sank into a chair with a sigh. The marchioness 
united the tact of the accomplished hostess with the veiled contempt 
of the high-born dame. Not willing for Moulinet to perceive the 
impression he had made, but unable to forego the satisfaction of 
letting fly a few well-pointed epigrams, 

“Be assured, monsieur,” she said, “that I fulty appreciate the 
sentiments expressed by you with such frank simplicity. They are 
worthy of a man whose intelligence has achieved for him the position 
he holds. * ’ 

Charmed with the compliment, and discovering no covert irony 
in it, Moulinet assigned to the marciiioness a very exalted place 
in his estimation, and promised himself to be marked in his atten- 
tions to her. He saw their future relations already traced out. 

“1 am just what you see me,” he exclaimed, “ and if my char- 
acter pleases you, Madame the Marchioness, I hope we shall find it 
agreeable to be good neighbors.” 

The baroness, unable longer to contain herself, rose, and leading 
Philippe to an embrasure of the window, vented her feelings by 
muttering : 

“ That man is a monster!” 

As for Moulinet, seeing that he was producing an impression, and 
quite unconscious of the nature of it, he launched out freely: 

“ Y arenne is a very large estate; yon are familiar with the chateau. 


56 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


no doubt? It is historic, you know. My chamber they tell me was 
occupied by the Emperor Charles V. Yes, Madame the Marchion- 
ess, 1 sleep on an imperial bed.” 

And with a modest gesture the former judge added : 

“ And, mon Dieu! 1 am none the prouder for that!” 

Athenais could contain herself no longer. She saw that her father 
would in a few minutes compromise her game, and rising suddenly 
she said with compressed lips and in a hard voice: 

“ Papa, ask Madame the Marchioness to show you the beautiful 
terrace of the chateau; the view is superb, I am told.” 

And to cut short the paternal outpourings she turned toward the 
door. The marchioness rose, indicating the way to Moulinet, and 
the rest of the guests followed. As Claire, who was last, was about 
setting her foot on the first step, feeling vaguely conscious that a 
catastrophe was impending, she found herself confronting Athenais, 
who had adroitly separated from the rest, and was returning toward 
the salon. They exchanged glances, that of Claire astonished and 
questioning, that of Athenais grave and ominous. 

“ Let us remain, will you?” said Mile. Moulinet, moving a step 
toward^ the salon. 

“ Certainly,” said Mile, de Beaulieu, “ you wish to speak to ine?” 

With the certainty that the critical moment had come, Claire’s self- 
possession and energy returned. Her splendid figure was drawn up 
to its full height, and mistress of herself she awaited the attack of 
her enemy. 

“ You cannot doubt the pleasure it is to me to find myself your 
neighbor,” said Athenais, without replying to Mile, de Beaulieu’s 
question. “In the years that have passed since we parted 1 have 
gained much experience, and my feelings have greatly modified. We 
were not precisely good friends formerly.” 

Claire knit her brow and made a gesture of haughty protestation. 

“ Oh! it is useless to deny it,” exclaimed Athenais, quickly. “ I 
had no love for you, I was jealous of you. My present position 
gives me the right to speak frankly, without any affectation of 
humility. But 1 had an instinctive admiration for you, and cherished 
a dream of becoming your equal.” 

“ My equal! grand Dieu!” said Claire with a smile, “ the equal 
of so insignificant a person as I! You surpass me, 1 assure you, by 
far. Judge yourself with more fairness! Beauty, elegance, 
luxury, you have everything — ” 

“ Everything, it is true,” said AtlienaYs, quietty, “ except a title.” 

“But,” resumed Claire, “in these days that is a thing to be 
bought. Every thing — small, medium, and great — has its price. If 
rank is what you wish, you may promise yourself the very besf. 
Your means admit of it.” 

“ Precisely,” replied Athenais, with an effort to steady her voice, 
which began to shake a little. “ And at this very time a marriage 
is being arranged or me.” 

“ Ah! that is charming! Let me congratulate you.” 

“ 1 wanted something else from you than congratulations.” 

“ What?” asked Claire in astonishment, 

“ Advice.” 

“ Advice! and about what?” 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


57 


“ The choice 1 am to make.” 

‘‘ Really! you overwhelm me. To ask my advice on your family 
affairs! 1 assure you, you quite embarrass me, considering the ex- 
tent of our acquaintance. Can you not dispense with my suffrage?” 

“ It is impossible,” replied Athenai's, gravely. 

“ 1 do not understand,” said Claire, perplexed. 

“ Listen to me,” resumed Mile. Moulinet, “ the subject is worth 
your attention. The marriage proposed for me is a very great mar- 
riage, one quite surpassing "my condition and prospects" It is a 
crown that is in question.” 

“ Royal?” asked Claire, with a smile. 

“ No, ducal only,” replied Athenai's, looking straight and fixedly 
into her rival’s eyes. “ It would make me a duchess.” 

Mile, de Beaulieu started. A veil seemed suddenly torn from her 
eyes. In an instant the truth which her friends had withheld from 
her flashed upon her mind. She did not for an instant doubt that 
Athenai's spoke of Gaston. His absence, his silence— everything — 
was explained. All the blood rushed to her heart, her face turned 
deathly white, and a half suppressed sigh died,aw£y on her lips. 

Athenai's watched the effects of this sudden shock with a frenzy of 
delight, reveling in Claire’s tortures, and counting each throb of her 
temples. In an instant she had retaliated on the proud girl all the 
humiliation she had been enduring for a quarter of an hour. Seeing 
her motionless, as if turned to stone, Athenai's feared she would 
faint and thus escape from her, and the second half of her cruel con- 
fidence had yet to be imparted. 

“ You do not inquire the name of my betrothed?” she said to 
Claire, whose eyes were settled in a fixed stare, and her ears filled 
with buzzing sounds. 

“ No,” stammered Mile, de Beaulieu, quite unconscious what she 
said. 

“ It is necessary that you should know,” she resumed. And 
choosing w T ell the time to strike, she added: 

“ It is the Duke de Bligny.” 

Claire expected it; her illusions had vanished, she had arrived at 
a certainty of the duke’s treachery. Nevertheless this name of 
Bligny which was to have been hers, thus uttered by Athenai's, 
caused her to start painfully. She remained silent, not daring to 
hear the altered sound of her own voice, with trembling hands, and 
parched lips, drinking to its dregs the bitter draught of her lost 
illusions. 

“Monsieur de Bligny is your relative,” Athenai's went on, ex- 
asperated by her rival’s impassibility. “ 1 have even heard that 
there was some marriage project between you, and I wished — you 
will understand me now? — to notify you frankly and consult you.” 

In this false show of generosity, Mile, de Beaulieu seemed to see 
a glimmering of hope. Perhaps, after all, things had not gone so 
far as she had been led to suppose. Her courage revived, and with 
it a determination to defend herself to the last. 

“ To consult me?” she said. “ About what?” 

“ As to the duke’s trueposin’on with regard to you,” replied Mile. 
Moulinet, good-naturedly. “If it is true that you were pledged 
to each other you might accuse me of robbing you of your lover. 


58 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


The duke has asked me in marriage, but for my part 1 do not love 
him. I hardly know him indeed. Let us see. Be frank with 
me! Do you love him? Would my marriage with him wound, or 
even displease you? Say a word and I promise to break it.” 

Perhaps had Claire courageously confessed her love, Athenai's 
would have permitted herself the supreme satisfaction of playing 
the rdle of generosity, and would have foregone her project of am- 
bition. But of all that Mile. Moulinet had said, Claire retained but 
one phrase: “ The duke has’ asked me in marriage.” A burning 
flush overspread her brow, and ready to die sooner than acknowl- 
edge her love, by a well-nigh miraculous effort of will, she com- 
manded her features and voice, and assumed an air of tranquil in- 
difference. 

“I thank you,” she said, with a cold smile, “but I am not a 
woman to be abandoned and disdained. Had the duke Deen en- 
gaged to me, do not fancy that he w’ould marry another. We were 
children together and cousins, a childish affair naturally follows, you 
understand, but reason comes and the exigencies of life overturn 
these projects. The duke, you say, has asked your hand? Accept 
him, you are worthy of each other. 

Athenai's turned pale at the irony of the last words in w hich 
Claire had retaliated on her all that she had been suffering. These 
two enemies, whose warfare was disguised under forms of the most 
exquisite politeness, exchanged smiles of mortal hate. It was a 
combat with golden pins that pierced the flesh sharp and murderous 
as poniards; woman’s warfare of refined science and skillfully di- 
rected attacks, in which victory is likely to leave both combatants 
with cruel wounds. 

“ This marriage, then, is not displeasing to you?” resumed Mile. 
Moulinet, infusing her subtlest venom into the wounds she had 
made. “1 am delighted! Think what a dream forme! Your 
relative, your equal in very truth, a duchess!” 

“All of which you richly deserve,” said Claire with profound 
irony. 

“ Let me embrace you!” cried Athenai’s, clasping Claire’s neck as 
though she would devour her. Mile, de Beaulieu made no resist- 
ance, and Athenai's pressed on her cheek a kiss, the most hypocriti- 
cal that ever woman gave. Then regarding her gravely: 

“ Be assured,” she said, “ that you have in me a sincere and de- 
voted friend.” 

Claire had strength left to reply: 

“ You have just given proof of it.” 

Then with trembling limbs she sunk back on the sofa. 

Fortunately the baroness, uneasy in the absence of the two girls, 
and suspecting some foul play on Athenai’s’ part, had gone in search 
of them. On entering the room, and seeing at a glance Claire pale 
and crushed, and Athenai’s erect and radiant, she guessed what had 
passed. 

“ What are you two doing shut up here?” And bending over 
Claire: “ What is the matter?” she asked. 

Mile, de Beaulieu replied by a lieart-piercing glance in the direc- 
tion of her rival, who w r as drawing on her gloves with the coolness 
of a duellist, who had just destroyed his adversary. 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


59 


This supplicating appeal for aid quite overcame the baroness. 
A hot flame rose to her head, her little ears grew fiery red, and with 
a threatening gesture she pointed Mile. Moulinet to the door: 

“ Go!” 

Athenai's, with great presence of mind, affected not to understand 
the insult: 

“ Yes, 1 am going to rejoin my father on the terrace,” she said. 
And turning to Claire: 

“ 1 hope we shall meet soon.” 

And deliberately, as though quitting of her own free will a battle- 
field on which the victory was hers, she left the salon. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

Hardly had Mile. Moulinet quitted them, when Claire sprung 
toward the baroness, the fury which she needed no longer to restrain 
sparkling in her eyes. 

“You knew he was going to be married? Why did you not tell 
me?” 

As Mme. de Prefont remained speechless: “Betrayed! aban- 
doned!” she went on, wringing her hands in a paroxysm of de- 
spair. “ And for her, for this girl! And you have suffered me to 
learn it from her own lips, you have permitted her to deal me a 
blow like this! You are then her accomplices! Not one of you 
loves me!” 

“ Claire, for mercy’s sake,” exclaimed the baroness, “ you frighten 
me!” 

But the impetuosity of Mile, de Beaulieu’s character, so long held 
under restraint, broke forth with irrepressible violence. The efforts 
she had made over herself during that horrible interview seemed to 
her now like cowardly weakness. She wondered why she had not 
flung in the face of the girl who had so impudently reveled in her 
tortures all the insults that had sprung to her lips. She regretted 
that she had not struck and wounded her. Her revolt was the fren- 
zied outburst of the exasperated plebeian robbed of her lover, storm- 
ing and raging utterly regardless of the restraints which society im- 
poses. The blood of the old barons with their right to high and low 
justice was boiling in the veins of Mile, de Beaulieu. She dreamed 
of cruel and ignominious tortures for her rival. But a sense of her 
impotence rushed over her, and prostrated her anew. She saw her 
hopes forever fled and all thought of revenge forbidden her. With 
suddenly relaxed nerves, she sunk sobbing and weeping into the 
arms of the baroness, exclaiming: “ Ah! how wretched — how 
wretched lam!” 

Mme. de Prefont drew Claire’s head down on her shoulder and 
gently, as a mother soothes a troubled child, sought to restore calm- 
ness to this imbittered heart. Claire wept extravagantly. The tears 
washed away the venom with which Athenai's had infected the 
wound and softened the keenness of its anguish. She blushed at the 
recollection of the transport to which she had given way, and, by a 
supreme effort of will, succeeded in regaining the mastery over her- 
self, so that when her mother entered the salon, terrified by a nai've 


60 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES, 


confidence which Moulinet had just imparted, she found Claire, if 
not resigned — -resignation was impossible — at least calm and cour- 
ageous. 

The marchioness, quite out of breath, both from her recent ex- 
citement and from the rapidity with which she had ascended the 
steps, stood speechless before Claire, who was still pale and trem- 
bling, and after seeking in vain for some word, which, in her agita- 
tion, would not come, threw her arms around her daughter’s neck, 
groaning : 

“ Ah! mon Dieu; my poor child!” 

“ You know it, mother?” asked Claire, a few tears again gather- 
ing in her eyes. 

“ Her father has this instant told me! And to think,” she added, 
throwing up her arms in indignation, “ that it was you, who to 
avoid showing them a discourtesy, wislibd me to receive them.” 

“ 1 am rewarded, am 1 not?” said Claire bitterly. “ I was impru- 
dent; I should have shunned this person, understanding as 1 did 
her sentiments toward me. If we formerly caused her humiliations, 
how she has avenged them! She has never pardoned! She has been 
waiting for the propitious moment to strike to the heart the happiest 
of her old companions. She has destroyed my life! 1 can never 
recover from this abandonment, and if, after such a humiliation, 1 
could be insane enough to think of marrying, who would want me 
now?” 

“ Who!” exclaimed the marchioness with animation, “all who 
have eyes to see and ears to hear. My dear child, if any one is in- 
jured by this, it is not you, but the duke, and should it please you 
to marry, you would only be embarrassed whom to choose. Within 
the past six months 1 have declined overtures from noble families, 
and those who asked your hand showed too much regret at their re- 
fusal to have changed their views so quickly.” 

Claire made a gesture of dissent. 

“ After the Duke de Bligny, mother, I could marry only a man 
who was quite superior to him or one whom I might love. My 
only vindication in the eyes of the world would be in the ambition 
or the infatuation of my choice. But you must know that it is 
impossible. After such a deception a girl in my position can wed 
only the convent.” 

“ The convent! Indeed! And ourselves? No, you are too young 
to despair. With your endowments the future must have in reserve 
for you a sure revenge. Even here— not far off — is a man who 
would accept your hand on his knees.” 

Mile, de Beaulieu elevating her brows, turned toward her mother. 

“ Monsieur Derblay?” she said simply. 

“ Monsieur Derblay, yes,” replied the marchioness. “ I mention 
him only to reassure ) r oii. Who could approach you and not love 
you? Shall we go to Paris? Will you go to Switzerland with Mon- 
sieur and Madame de Prefont? Speak, I am ready for anything 
that will gratify or console you. What do you want?” 

“Ah! do I know?” cried Claire, with abandon. “I want to 
disappear instantly, to fly fiom everybody and from myself. 1 hate 
and despise everything alike. Alas! why can 1 not die?” 

‘ ‘ Death, my dear child, is the only evil for which there is no 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


61 


remedy. If all the women who have been betrayed by lover or hus- 
band should die. the world would be depopulated, lliere are few 
men who are constant; if they do not deceive j r ou before marriage 
they do after.” 

As though the marchioness in speaking of unfaithful men had 
evoked the faithless one' who had caused so many sighs and tears, a 
furious gallop was suddenly heard, and the Duke de Bligny on a 
white horse covered with foam, dashed into the court through the 
open gate, dismounted rapidly, and tossing the bridle to a petrified 
valet, ascended the steps, four at a time, and was about hurrying 
without ceremony to the salon, when he was met in the vestibule by 
the baron and Bachelin. His features were pale and drawn, and 
he suffered them to close the passage to hi n without resistance. 

“ Are Monsieur and Mademoiselle Moulinet still here?” he asked, 
huskily. As the baron answered affirmatively : “ And my aunt? I 
must see the marchioness immediately. Perhaps it is not yet too 
late?” 

“ You mistake, my dear sir,” replied the baron, understanding the 
cause of the duke’s precipitation. “It is too late. Monsieur and 
Mademoiselle Moulinet have spoken.” 

The duke, with a sigh, sunk down on one of the tall sculptured 
benches of the vestibule, and looked at the two men with a counten- 
ance full of distress. 

“ What can 1 do to repair the mischief that has been done?” he 
asked. 

“ It is, alas, irreparable, Monsieur the Duke,” replied Bachelin in a 
tone of respectful reproach. “ The best you can now do is to with- 
draw without making any attempt to see Mademoiselle de Beau- 
lieu.” 

“ That 1 will never consent to,” the duke said, rising quickly, “ I 
cannot remain under the imputation which my aunt will cast upon 
me. I must speak to her and assure her that I have had no hand in 
this infamy.” 

Despite their unfavorable prepossessions, the baron and Bachelin 
were touched by the grief expressed in the duke’s countenance. 

“ So be it,” said Bachelin, “ Monsieur the Baron will remain with 
you while I ascertain whether the marchioness will yield to your 
entreaties.” 

Not suspecting the violent state of agitation into which the house- 
hold whose guests they were, had been thrown, Philippe, Moulinet, 
Suzanne, Athena'is, and the marquis were talking quietly together 
on the terrace. The setting sun made a band of crimson on the 
green-tinted blue sky, a delicious calm overhung the valley whose 
depths already lay in shadow. The clock of the Pont-Avesnes 
church, sounded clear and melancholy in the distance, announcing a 
mass for the dead. All nature was enveloped in a peace so pro- 
found, that under its influence, Athena'is’ feelings became less bitter, 
and satisfied with the completeness of her triumph she felt in a 
mood to spare her rival future annoyance. 

Upon seeing the duke dash into the court at full speed, Claire had 
started up astonished and alarmed. She attempted to speak, but 
words failed her and she could only stammer disjointed!?, laughing 
nervously and pointing toward the window. She seemed about to 


62 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


go mad. Her lips were white and she shivered convulsively. The 
marchioness and the baroness, frightened, rushed toward her, and 
apprehending a fainting fit were about to call for assistance when 
Claire, with an imperious gesture, stopped them. With a great 
effort over herself, she succeeded in breathing through her tightly 
clinched teeth : 

“ Do not call! I will recover myself.’’ 

She sunk back on a chair. The baroness wiped away the cold 
perspiration which had gathered on her brow. The marchioness 
tore off her woolen fichu and shawl and enveloped in them her 
shivering daughter. A moment of anxiety passed in which Claire, 
with her head bent forward, remained in a sort of stupor, the one 
deep wrinkle between her brows made by an absorbing thought and 
her glistening eyes riveted upon a single flower of the carpet, which 
she did not see, alone indicating that she was awake. In a few 
minute^ the color returned to her cheeks. She sighed, and with a 
sudden movement threw aside the wrappings. 

The sound of the glass door opened by Bachelin caused her to 
turn her head. She did not choose that her sufferings should be be- 
trayed, and turned a smiling face to the notary who was approaching 
Mine, de Beaulieu on tiptoe as if the room had been the chamber of 
an invalid, and bowing lower than usual, as though ashamed of the 
mission with which he was charged: 

' “ Madame the Marchioness will pardon me, but what has hap- 
pened is so extraordinary — ” 

“I knew. ' ’ .interrupted the marchioness, abruptly, “ the duke is 
here. ' Well?” 

“ And madame,” continued the notary, “ he insists upon seeing 
you in spite of all that can be said. ” 

“ Such insolence on his part is amazing,” said the marchioness, 
with unaccustomed vivacity, drawing herself up, and turning toward 
the door. 

“ Where are you going, mother?” asked Claire. 

“ To send him away from here, as he deserves,” replied the mar- 
chioness, flushing with indignation. 

Claire was silent a moment, as if debating with herself. Then 
shaking her head: 

“ No, mother, we must not send the Duke de Bligny away, we 
must receive him.” 

“ Receive him!” repeated the marchioness, petrified, questioning 
whether her daughter’s senses had not deserted her. 

“ Yes, and with a good countenance. I would not have him 
imagine I have suffered from his abandonment. Anything rather 
thanjh|s insulting pity! Receive him! "We may well open our door 
to him since we have not closed it to his fiancee!” 

“ Bfit what are you going to do?” asked Mme. de Beaulieu, un- 
easily. 

f Kvenge myself!” replied Claire. And turning to Bachelin: 

Stale so kind as to request the duke to wait on the terrace for a 
while; you will invite him in when I beckon to you from the w r in 
dow. And send Monsieur Derblay to me.” 

The baroness and the marchioness exchanged glances of bewil- 
derment. But Bachelin, with more insight, divining the success of 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 63 

his combinations, disappeared with youthful agility. In another in- 
stant Philippe entered. 

“ You and mother leave me awhile, Sophie, dear. 1 have some- 
thing to say to Monsieur Derblay.” 

Mme. de Beaulieu and the baroness retired into the embrasure of 
a window, to await in perplexity the close of tne interview. Philippe, 
forwarned by a word from Bachelin, and understanding that this 
second involved his destiny, stood in silence before the girl he loved. 

“ Monsieur,” she said, addressing him directly for the first time, 
“our old friend and counselor has informed my mother that you 
have done me the honor to aspire to my hand.” 

Philippe bowed assent. 

“ 1 believe you to be a worthy man,” continued Mile, de Beaulieu, 
resolutely; “ I conclude that before forming such a project, you, as 
well as others, knew that the Duke de Bligny had abandoned me.” 

“ Yes, mademoiselle, I knew it,” Philippe articulated with diffi- 
culty. “ And be assured that at this moment were it in my power to 
insure your happiness by restoring the duke to you, 1 would not 
hesitate, though it were at the price of my life.” 

“ Thank you,” said Claire, “ but all ties between us are at an end, 
in proof of which, if your sentiments remain the same, lam ready to 
bestow on you my hand.” 

Her voice faltered as she spoke the last words, and Philippe guessed 
rather than heat'd them. There flashed across his mind a recollec- 
tion of the day when his sister, seeing him sad and dispirited, had 
said: “You will see, she will come to you herself and ask you to be 
her husband.” Suzanne's prophecy was fulfilled. Her affection 
had given her the prescience of her brother's happiness. It had not 
been a dream — it was true; Claire herself had offered him her hand. 
A great joy filled his heart, and- raising the lovety hand to his lips, 
in his icy fingets, he touched it lightly with the most timid and de- 
licious of kisses. 

“ I have a favor to ask of you, monsieur,” resumed Claire. “ I 
wish you to let it be understood that we have been engaged for sev- 
eral days. 1 do not need to explain to you the motives of this de- 
ception; it is born of my pride. You, alas, are under no illusions 
respecting the state of my heart, but you have my promise to be a 
true and faithful wife. Leave me now, but do not go away. I may 
need you.” 

As Philippe moved off, she signed to Bachelin to introduce the 
duke. The notary had skillfully occupied the attention of De Bligny 
during the few moments that the interview had lasted. As he was 
opening to him the door leading to the terrace, they met Philippe 
returning from the salon with a radiant face. 

Moulinet and Atlienai's had been petrified at the arrival of the 
duke. Napoleon looking for Grouchy and perceiving the advance 
guard of Blucher, was not more overwhelmed than was the daughter 
of the former J udge de Commerce. The duke at Beaul ieu at this crit- 
ical moment threatened the utmost danger to her combinations. W as 
she to suffer a disastrous and humiliating defeat in the very moment of 
her triumph? Wliat would be the result of the meeting between 
Gaston and Claire? Had the cards been sufficiently mixed to make 
a reconciliation impossible? Or would the lovers in a single glance 


64 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


be restored to each other, and exchange in one supreme embrace 
solemn and irrevocable vows? 

Moulinet, too, had hecn greatly astonished, but his ideas had not 
traveled so far as his clear-sighted daughter’s. He wondered why 
the duke had not waited at Varenne, but he had no suspicion of the 
cause that had hurried him to Beaulieu. He advanced to meet his 
son-in-law, extending his hand to him with a gracious smile, and 
was annihilated by the glance which Gaston flashed upon him as he 
passed on without so much as a bow to Athenai's. He followed 
him, however, toward Ihe salon. 

In an instant the marchioness and the baroness had arranged a mise- 
en-scene, and when De Bligny entered, he found his aunt ensconced, 
as usual, in her easy-chair, the baroness standing before the fire 
with her arms crossed, that the duke might not offer her a hand as 
it was his habit to do. Mile, de Beaulieu sat between her mother 
and the baroness, and her back being turned toward the light to con- 
ceal the alteration of hei features, it was the coil of golden hair that 
first met his eyes. He shivered in spite of himself, and was on the 
eve of rushing forward and falling at Claire's feet, reckless of con- 
sequences, but the cold, severe look of the marchioness arrested 
him, and instead of doing so, he bowed profoundly to the woman 
who had been a mother to him: 

“ You perceive, Madame the Marchioness,” he said, speaking dis- 
jointedly, “ my grief — my agitation— my regret — On arriving at 
Varenne, at Monsieur — ” the duke was ashamed to pronounce 
Moulinet’s name. “ 1 learned the unbecoming step which — ” 

“ But, Monsieur the Duke,” interrupted the former judge, visibly 
piqued. Tlie duke turned upon his future father-in-law with an 
air of majestic disdain. 

” An inconceivable step, and one which 1 wish publicly to dis- 
avow'. Upon my word of honor, 1 am innocent of having authorized 
this affront to my family.” 

“ It was a simple visit of courtesy,” muttered Moulinet, subdued 
by the duke’s vehemence, l do not comprehend — ” 

“ You do not comprehend!” interrupted, the duke with withering 
contempt. “ That is your sole excuse!” 

But Moulinet was too thoroughly infatuated with himself to sub- 
mit to be browbeaten even by a man whom he regarded as of a 
superior essence. He assumed an air of dignity,^ and bowing 
gravely : 

“ If I am guilty of any wrong toward you, son in-law, 1 beg you 
to explain it. I am prepare to make reparation for it.” 

The word son-in-law raised the duke's irritation to its utmost 
pitch. This time he silenced the former judge effectually with an: 
“ Enough, monsieur!” stinging as the lash of a horsewhip. Then 
for the first time since his entrance, venturing to look at Claire, who 
kept her seat, imperturbably : 

“1 owe 3011 explanations, aunt; suffer me to make them. And 
you, Claire, I will not leave the room until you assure me of your 
forgiveness.” 

At these words, addressed personally to herself, Claire rose 
proudly, and looking with marvelous calmness at her old lover, said: 

“You have no explanations to make, duke, and no need of par- 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 65 

don. You are to marry, 1 am informed, the daughter of Mon- 
sieur ,” and the tone of the last words conveyed volumes of im- 

pertinence. “ You have the right so to do, I believe. Were you less 
free than myself?” 

The duke, as he listened, asked himself whether or not he was 
dreaming. He looked at Claire, at the baroness, and at his aunt, and 
saw them all quiet and unmoved. Had Mile, de Beaulieu become 
estranged from him during this year which he had employed so 
fatally ? 

“Your betrothed brought me herself the happy intelligence,” 
pursued Claire. “ It was well, and 1 do not wish to be behindhand 
with you.” 

Moving to the window, she beckoned to Philippe. Athenais, de- 
voured with curiosity, followed the iron-master, and in another mo- 
ment all the guests were assembled in the salon. 

“ 1 wish to present you to each other, gentlemen,” she said, with 
perfect sang froid. “ Monsieur the Duke de Bligny, my cousin,” 
she said to Philippe. And turning full upon Gaston: “Monsieur 
Derblay, my betrothed.” 

A bombshell bursting in their midst would not have been more 
startling than was this announcement to the assemblage. The duke 
staggered, Athenai's was seized with vertigo, and her ruddy face 
changed to ash color; the baron and baroness exchanged glances of 
astonishment. Bachelin and Suzanne only, showed no symptoms of 
surprise. The notary, because he had secretly planned this denoue- 
ment ; Suzanne, because in her adoration of her brother, she had 
never doubted that Mile, de Beaulieu must end by yielding to the 
irresistible merit of Philippe. 

The duke proved that his practice of diplomacy had not been use- 
less to him. He replied promptly, with a gracious smile to M. 
Derblay. 

“Accept my compliments, sir,” he said, in a voice which was 
tolerably steady; “ you will marry a woman of whom few of us are 
worthy.” 

Confoimded though she was at this startling reprisal on the part 
of Mile, de Beaulieu, Athenais understood that she must put a good 
face on it. She advanced in her turn, and looking fixedly at Claire: 

“ My warmest congratulations,” she said; and added, in an un- 
dertone, with a perfidious smile: “ It is a love marriage!” 

Mile, de Beaulieu shuddered, as suddenly all the horror of her posi- 
tion flashed upon her. The man she loved was there- before her — 
and was soon to take leave of her in company with her rival. The 
unexpected revelation which had been made to him having dissipated 
his wrath, he was talking apart with Athenais, laughing with the 
careless unconcern of a happy man. And she, by an impulse of her 
indomitable pride, had decided her destiny, surrendered her liberty. 
She was pledged to a man she could not love, for her heart was filled 
with the sad memory of another. With a look of mortal anguish, 
she glanced toward the duke; she felt a strong impulse to walk up 
to him and carry him away from the pointed and exaggerated 
coquetries of Athenais, and tell him all the truth. But she saw him 
calm, careless, indifferent, and a return of anger and pride preserved 
her from the weakness. A reckless determination to avoid the ap- 
s 


66 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


pearance of abandonment, and to save her amour propre at any price, 
triumphed over ever}’ other feeling; for this she felt ready to sacri- 
fice her whole future, and with an exultant glance at De Bligny and 
Mile. Moulinet, she murmured: *' 1 will be married first!” 


CHAPTER IX. 

Preparations for the marriage went on with incredible rapidity. 
It seemed as if all the inmates of Beaulieu and of Pont-Avesnes had 
rendered themselves Claire’s accomplices. Philippe suddenly de- 
parted for Berry in quest of the needful papers, and the marquis at 
the same time set out for Paris. Post and telegraph vied with each 
other in stirring up the tradespeople, and an animated bustle suc- 
ceeded to the quiet in which the marchioness had lived for a year 
past. The worthy lady, quite stunned by the march of events, ac- 
cepted her daughter’s sudden determination without remonstrance. 
Confiding in the favorable representations which Bachelin had made 
to her, and touched also by the delicacy of the iron-master’s con- 
duct, she saw the arrangements for the marriage with more surprise 
than concern. She would have preferred that Claire should have 
waited and have chosen a husband in her own sphere, but after all, 
would a man who possessed rank and fortune consent in this prac- 
tical age to marry Mile, de Beaulieu without a dowry? The answer 
seemed doubtful enough to lead her to look upon the meeting with 
M. Derblay at this critical moment as a rare good fortune. 

Claire spared no effort to lull to rest any scruples which her 
mother might entertain. She assumed a smiling face, and wore an 
air of entire satisfaction. Only the baroness knew the secret of her 
anguish and regrets. She would pass whole days shut up in her 
chamber, extended on a long chair in a state of physical and mental 
prostration, going over in her mind the cruel circumstances of her 
rupture with the duke. What had she done to bring upon her such 
a misfortune? Nothing. All sprung from the hatred of her rival 
and the baseness of her lover. She was the innocent victim of an 
unrelenting hatred, the martyr to implacable destiny, and she began 
devising in her mind schemes of vengeance. Life she thought was 
simply a battlefield, on which to protect oneself from being wound- 
ed it was necessary to be steeled against contempt and armed with 
audacity. She vowed to shrink from nothing to reach her end. 
She grew implacable, malevolent. Nothing remained of the once 
noble, generous, tender-hearted Claire. She taught herself to be 
hard and selfish, to be ready to sacrifice anything to her own pleas- 
ure. The consuming fire of her grief seemed to have withered her 
heart. Even her beauty had changed, had grown marble like. It 
had the coldness and the majesty of a statue." 

As she thought over her future she traced out her line of conduct. 
Her indifference to M. Derblay was profound. She felt not the least 
gratitude for the iron-master’s generosity, his compliances she attri- 
buted solely to his ambition to become her husband. How should 
he not agree to anything to marry a girl so rich, and to enter a 
family so noble? She even felt a disdain for the facility with which 
he had lent himself to the humiliating comedy played before the 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 67 

duke. Thus Philippe’s noble generosity in Claire’s eyes became 
baseness. At least she would find in him a compliant husband, one 
whom she could manage without difficulty, and that was precisely 
what she desired. If M. Derblay would show himself docile she 
would interest herself in him, would bring to bear all the influence 
at her command on his behalf, would charge herself with his future 
and ensure his advancement. The importance of the station which 
he would occupy would make amends for his want of birth ; and, 
after all, it was the century of parvenus. 

The little baroness, uneasy at the terrible calmness with which her 
cousin prepared for a union which was not one to ba entered into 
wantonly, made an attempt to penetrate her thoughts. She plied 
her with a number of questions, shifting her ground from one point 
to another, seeking to cover their seriousness under her usual air of 
lightness and gayety. Claire tried to affect indifference, but the bet- 
ter words that sprang to her lips betrayed the cruel wound that was 
still bleeding in the bottom of her heart. While admiring her cour- 
age and spirits, the baroness could not refrain from misgivings as to 
the result of the step she had resolved to take. With three years’ 
experience of married life she recognized the gravity of Claire’s con- 
duct, and made an effort to prevail upon her to look at things in 
their real aspect. But she came in conflict with an invincible will. 
Claire had promulgated for her own use a sort of law of retaliation. 
She had suffered through others, others might suffer through her. 
So much the worse for them if they were innocent. Was she guilty? 
Since injustice was the rule of humanity, regret and duty were no 
concern of hers, she would trample upon anything to effect her pur- 
poses. To her thought, human beings had come to be the mere 
mediums of actions. She had made up her mind to move them like 
pawns on a chessboard, with the sole end of winning the game. 
To be even with Athenai's and to humiliate the duke were objects 
to be pursued regardless of consequences, and the first victim was to 
be the generous and devoted Philippe, who was longing to restore to 
the woman he adored the peace and happiness she hadlost. 

Claire’s despotic intentions were severely censured by Mme. de 
Prefont. The cruel confounding of the just and the unjust made 
by her to the profit of her egotism, appeared to her cousin so insen- 
sate that she set it down to a temporary madness, for which time 
would bring a cure. She gave her friend to understand, however, 
that this projected tyranny might prove less easy than she supposed. 
True, it was no doubt that it had flattered M. Derblay to enter the 
Beaulieu family, and that he would not oe disposed to count that a 
sacrifice to which he owed the honor of a marriage with Claire. 
Her hand was the price of the service he had rendered her in 
enabling her to confound her enemies in the very moment when 
they supposed her humbled and defeated. But what future was she 
going to create for him? And how would it be, if, when coming to 
his wife with open arms and words of tenderness he found her grave 
and cold? He had sought her, as she thought, from ambition; but 
might it not have been "from love? Even in this age, when specula- 
tion has the chief share in matrimonial contracts, there were hus- 
bands who loved their wives. Might not M. Derblay belong to the 
number of these phenomena? In marriage woman was seldom the 


68 THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 

sovereign, and men were for the most part inclined to domineer. If 
M Derblay, who appeared also to know very well what he wanted, 
should revolt against the plans she had arranged, what would result 
from the conflict of the two wills? It was not a question of a part- 
nership for a few hours, of a comedy to be performed in five min- 
utes. A whole existence was involved in it, and it might turn to a 
tragedy if one were not careful. Perhaps it would be better to 
pause before it was too late. 

But to all this reasoning Mile, de Beaulieu remained insensible. 
She was prepared to encounter any risk sooner than forego her pro- 
jects. She wished to appear to abandon the duke, she had resolved 
to be married before him, the day was fixed, and nothing could 
hinder her. But she perceived that she had been imprudent in 
suffering the baroness to read her thoughts, and resolved for the 
future to be more circumspect. She relaxed the hard contracted 
muscles of her face, taught herself to smile, and playfully compas- 
sionated poor M. Derblay, who was condemned to the sad duty of 
marrying a girl like her, and who would hardly find in the alliance 
advantages enough to compensate for the capricious tyrannical 
humor of his wife. The baroness was taken in the snare, and began 
to consider that time Only was needed to dispel Claire’s gloom and 
soften her irritation. She said to herself also that marriage subdues 
the most violent characters, that once alone with her husband the 
most recalcitrant must be brought to reason. A man who is not a 
fool and who is very much in love may greatly modify a woman’s 
ideas. And should maternity ensue, the whole situation changes 
and the tigress becomes a lamb. 

These reflections reassured the baroness. Moreover it was not in 
her nature to follow long the same idea, and having been serious 
and penetrating for one day, she had a return of frivolousness for 
the remainder of the week. 

Meanwhile Philippe had returned, bringing with him the wed- 
ding ring, a beautiful ruby, encircled with brilliants, and tremb- 
lingly requested of Claire permission to place it on her finger. She 
extended to him her white hand with haughty indifference, and had 
only a disdainful glance for the princely present, and no word of 
thanks. The ring was the token of her engagement, and it was 
odious to her. The next day Philippe saw, with a tight pressure at 
his heart, that she did not wear it. He dared not say anything. 
He was so timid before her! But his eyes rested on her hand with 
a gaze so eloquent that she felt constrained to say : 

“ You must excuse me, I never wear rings.” 

The iron-master was reassured. He had fancied he saw in the 
absence of the jewel a repugnance for everything that reminded her 
of him. He was well aware of her sentiments toward him, he 
knew that he had been accepted out of pique, but he felt himself so 
penetrated by his passion, so overflowing with tenderness that he 
believed it would be in his power to draw to himself this wounded 
heart. How could a woman remain insensible to an affection of 
every instant, attentive, thoughtful, devoted? Disappointed in her 
hopes, she had retired sorrowfully within herself, but could it be 
possible for the heart of a girl of twenty, in the full tide of youth, to 
remain forever impenetrable and frozen, deaf to all the appeals of 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


69 


life, blind to all the smiles of hope? She believed her heart dead, 
when it was, in fact, only asleep. Little by little he would awaken 
it, and teach it to resume its beatings. \.nd for whom, if not for 
the one who had aroused it from its lethargy? Having saved this 
soul, would he not have the right to it? And when brought back 
to life and made to recognize the difference between the affection 
she had lost and that which she had gained, would she not recom- 
pense him by a whole existence of happiness? 

Thus mused Philippe during his hours of silent meditation. Ab- 
sorbed all his life long in the cares of an engrossing business he had 
had no time to spare for society. He was therefore very timid. 
With women in general he was much embarrassed, and he never ap- 
proached Mile, de Beaulieu without fearful palpitations of the heart. 
The grave, cold Claire had only to turn her quiet eyes upon him to 
cause him immediately to lose countenance. While ascending the 
hill with Suzanne from Pont-Avesnes to Beaulieu he developed to 
her his plans for the future, the reforms he projected in the interior 
arrangements of the chateau, and lastly poured into her ears his love 
for his betrothed. Suzanne listened with a smiling face and spark- 
ling eyes to his glowing words, understanding that he was rehears- 
ing to her the lesson which was to be learned by heart before pre- 
senting himself to Claire. And when anxious for approval he turned 
to her with, “ is it not so?” she replied mischievously: 

“ But it is not to me that all that should be said, Philippe, but to 
her. I, you know, find everything you say so wise, and everything 
you do so well done, that I am alwa} r s of your opinion. But Made- 
moiselle de Beaulieu — ” 

“ I am going to say it to her to-day,” exclaimed the iron master, 
resolutely. “ Oh! I have much to tell her!” 

But when he reached the chateau and found himself in Claire’s 
presence, all his beautiful intrepidity vanished. He stammered when 
he attempted to say good morning, and took his seat dejectedly 
apart, wishing it were only in his power by a miracle to open his 
heart, like a jewel-casket, and display to the young girl all the treas- 
ures it contained. 

The cold weather had come with the first days of November, and 
they could no longer disperse as before over the terrace. 

Philippe found, in the increased intimacy of the drawing-room, 
opportunities to talk to more advantage —not of his passion — his lips 
remained sealed as to all that concerned himself, but on general top- 
ics; skillfully seconded by Octave and the baron, he showed the recti- 
tude of his judgments and the solidity of his knowledge. 

Claire, seated by her mother in the chimney-corner, with a bright 
fire blazing on the hearth, bent her head over her embroidery with- 
out ever raising her eyes. The peals of laughter which reached 
them through the open door of the billiard-hall, where the marquis 
and Suzanne were engaged in an exciting game of parlor-croquet, 
alone threw a little animation over the picture. 

Athenai's, furious at the miscarriage of her plans, had departed for 
Paris, taking with her her father and the duke. 

Moulinet had returned, to make a parting call, and had been well 
received by the marchioness. 

By Claire’s request, she had welcomed the former judge as the 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES, 


70 

prospective father-in-law of a well-beloved nephew, the mother thus 
consenting to fill her role in the comedy prepared by her outraged 
daughter. 

The Moulinets and the Duke de Bligny were to be made to discard 
utterly from their minds such a thought as that she, Claire, had been 
injured by them. 

The duke was astonished to find himself so innocent after having 
believed himself so guilty. Athenais admired her rival’s strength of 
mind, but, feeling herself vanquished in the moment when she had 
deemed herself victor, consoled herself with a promise of terrible re- 
prisals. 

Athenai's’ marriage, which had been arranged to be celebrated in 
the superb chapel at Yarenne, it was now decided should take place 
in Paris. She was aware that the Parisian bourgeoisie, whom her fa- 
ther had invited, would not come to the province for the purpose of 
swelling her cortege, and suspected that the great country families 
invited by the duke might decline to be represented at her marriage; 
and she would not risk the chance of a rebuff. 

Promising, therefore, to return for the marriage of her future 
cousin, her” dear Claire,” she departed for Paris. 

This, at least, was something of a solace to Claire. Her counte- 
nance brightened. In the absence of her rival, the air seemed purer. 
Philippe had employed workmen to restore the apartments at the 
Pont-Avesnes, which time had defaced, and he profited by the ray 
of good humor to propose to Mme. de Beaulieu a visit to her daugh- 
ter’s future residence. 

The proposition was accepted, and the day following all the in- 
mates of Beaulieu set out in a large break for the Pont-Avesnes. 

The impression produced on entering was favorable. Claire was 
pleased with the large court, planted with old lindens, the stream of 
water, the trenches filled with fruit trees which surrounded the cha- 
teau. The park, with its deep, somber walks, promised her silence and 
calmness. The solemn gloom of the vast suites of apartments 
seemed in harmony with her own melancholy. 

A habitation so destitute of outlook would* have seemed to another 
a tomb, but Mile, de Beaulieu found it to her taste. 

The baroness explored all the reception-rooms, uttered exclamations 
of suiprise and delight at sight of the ancient riches which Philippe’s 
father had collected. The Louis Fourteenth furniture, in point- 
work, transported her; she stood in ecstasy before the Beauvais 
tapestry, representing Alexander’s battles. The love of antiquity, 
which prevails at present, has made of every one who respects 
himself something of an expert. 

The baroness had attended a number of sales, and could value, 
with surprising accuracy, the sculptured Henry III. gaudrons, and 
the old Saxony bonbonieres. 

Moving from one salon to another, she prattled on with the vivac- 
ity and abandonment of a young parrot, confounding her aunt, who 
understood not a word of her bric-a-brac, phraseology. 

Brigitte alone appreciated the enthusiasm of the baroness for the 
furniture which had been her care, and did justice to the propriety of 
her praises. 

Suzanne and Octave had not even entered the chateau. They had 


THE MASTER OP THE FORGES. 


71 


strolled together through the wains of the French parterre till, sud- 
denly hurrying off to the kitchen, Suzanne returned with an enor- 
mous hunch of bread, which they distributed together to the carps. 

They had been there for a half hour, amusing themselves with the 
efforts of the gourmands to carry off a large crust which was swim- 
ming on the surface. As for the baron, the proximil y to the manu- 
factory had destroyed his freedom of mind, and he had taken a 
path, which he well knew, leading to the workshops. 

Claire had remained in the rear, while the baroness was engaged 
in making her inventory of the furniture, and Philippe in doing the 
honors of the house to Mme. de Beaulieu. 

A glass door opening upon a flight of stairs led to the park. She 
opened it, and descended them alone. 

In the distance, the hammers of the manufactory rang out gayly on 
the anvil, the tall, snorting furnaces cast their dense smoke upward. 
The park was dark, still and mysterious. The noise and the silence 
formed a seductive contrast. She bent her steps beneath the branches 
of the great trees, whose leaves were already reddened by the autumn 
winds, and sauntered along the moss-covered path, losing herself in 
solemn reverie. 

This somber, dreary park seemed to her the very frame she would 
have chosen to inclose her life. As these dead branches, which she 
crackled beneath her feet, had been detached from the trees, so had 
her hopes been severed from her life; they had been scattered to the 
winds, as she dispersed the dry leaves with her fingers. 

All within her was chill and motionless, as were these great, empty, 
desolate woods. She felt a bitter satisfaction in the increasing mel- 
ancholy of nature, as she penetrated the gloomy wall. 

Suddenly, in a bend of the path, a glimpse of the country rose be- 
fore her with its fruitful plains spreading out in the far distance, 
reveling in the sunlight. It was like a tableau suddenly discovered 
to view. 

She had so completely identified herself with her surroundings 
that the impression it made upon her was startling. In an instant, 
gayety had succeeded to gloom. After the dreary park, fields rose 
to view, fertile and full of life. 

Should it be thus with her? Could her feelings ever know a 
change? 

She turned away angrily from the smiling landscape, and retreated 
into the solitude, the gloom, and the shadow, rejecting the promise 
which the future seemed to be holding out to her. 

When the baroness, Philippe, and Mme. de Beaulieu, surprised 
and a little uneasy at her long absence, started out in search of her, 
they saw her slowly returning through the silent walk, calm and 
smiling. Only her eyes, which were still moist with the tears she 
had secretly shed, betokened that a struggle had been going on in 
her heart. 

The baron, who had torn himself away from his scientific obser- 
vations, with Suzanne and Octave, left the boat in which they had 
been plowing the little stream, and, with the marchioness, returned 
to the carriage, taking Philippe and Suzanne back with them to din- 
ner at Beaulieu. 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES, 


n 

Only a week now separated Claire and Philippe from the day so 
earnestly desired by the pride of the one and the love of the other. 

As the moment drew near, Claire became more nervous and agi- 
tated. It might have been believed she was happy in the marriage 
she was about to contract, such was her impatience to have it con- 
cluded. She seemed to be in dread lest something should supervene 
at the last moment. 

Packages arrived without ceasing by the rail, and the postal serv- 
ice was wearied out. At the chateau, the bells had St. Vitus’ 
dance, and the servants, habituated to the quiet country ways, were 
in a state of exasperation. 

When the time arrived to send out the invitations, Claire an- 
nounced two resolutions, which stupefied every one. She wished 
the ceremony to be performed at midnight, and very quietly, in the 
little church of the Pont-Avesues, only the family being present. 

The marchioness threw up her arms in amazement; the baroness 
sunk into a chair, and remained for ten minutes speechless; Octave 
asked if his sister was going mad, while Philippe kept silence. 

Without assigning any reasons, Claire maintained her point, and 
bore unflinchingly the united assaults of her family. 

To marry at midnight! That was strange enough; though it was 
a fashion which still prevailed in the Faubourg Saint-Germain. A 
black mass! Doubtless Claire looked upon herself as the duke’s 
widow, and this was her mourning! 

The midnight marriage might be tolerated, but to invite no one! 
Claire would appear to be ashamed of her husband ; and then it 
might bring ill luck! This last consideration, which was hazarded 
by the baroness, had no more weight than the rest. 

Philippe decided the question by declaring that whatever Mile, de 
Beaulieu desired was excellent in his eyes, and that he saw no in- 
convenience in gratifying her wishes in every particular. The per- 
son chiefly interested offering no objection, the opposition was forced 
to give way. 

The baroness, much vexed — she had ordered a magnificent dress 
for the occasion — laughingly likened the wedding to tlie tragic mar- 
riages at the Porte Saint-Martin, when a person under sentence of 
death receives permission of the king to wed his beloved in prison 
before ascending the scaffold. 

The signing of the contract took place the evening before the 
great day. Bachelin, compelled to choose between his two clients, 
since he was the notary of both parties, called in one of His brethren 
of Besangon, and represented himself the noble family for whom his 
fathers had officiated for centuries. The old practitioner garbled so 
skillfully the reading of the contract that even had Claire lent an at- 
tentive ear to the jargon, she would have been but little enlightened 
respecting the situation. 

She remained, therefore, in entire ignorance of her ruin; and when 
Bachelin, more agitated than herself, presented the pen to her, she 
signed, without suspecting it, the deed which made over to her the 
half of M. Derblay’s fortune. 

Philippe, the contract once duly signed, felt himself lighter of 
heart; though he was not thoroughly at his ease until the question 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 73 

being put by the mayor to Mile, de Beaulieu : “ Do you take Mon- 
sieur Philippe Derblay for your husband?” he heard her, in a firm 
voice, answer, "‘Yes.” 


CHAPTER X. 

It was nearly one in the morning when Suzanne left the sacristy 
before the signing was over, and hastened home. She found the 
faithful Brigitte on her knees, engaged in vigorously blowing into 
an active blaze the fire burning in a tall chimney-piece of sculptured 
sandstone. 

Hearing the door open, she turned, bellows in hand, and without 
rising, smiled to Mile. Derblay: 

Well, Mademoiselle Suzanne, are you back already? Is the mar- 
riage ended?’ 

“ Perfectly, and entirely as can be; and I have left them with the 
cure to take a look at matters here. We have a new mistress, Bri- 
gitte; we must do our best to please her.” 

“Mon Dieu! how can she help being pleased as soon as she is 
with our Philippe? And then, if the bird is pretty, so is the cage.” 

And she glanced admiringly around on the lofty apartment, with 
a caressing look at the large arm-chairs, with their carved backs, the 
credences, the hangings of old Cordora leather, browned by time, 
shining faintly from out of the shadows. A door, partly open, led 
into the sleeping chamber, softly lighted by a lamp reflected from 
th3 mirrored doors of a superb Louis Sixteenth wardrobe. 

“ Everything is in order there?” said Suzanne, designating this 
apartment. 

“Everything, 1 answer for it; 1 have attended to it all myself. 
This wedding turns the servants’ heads so, nothing can be got out 
of them, the tiiflers.” With a malicious look at Suzanne: “And 
to think that in a year or two it will be your turn to set everything 
topsy-turvy.” 

“ Fortunately nothing of ihe sort is in question now,” said Su- 
zanne, coloring. 

“Fortunately! Ah! but who was the pretty gentleman that 
offered his arm to you as you set off, with such an attentive air?” 

“ That was Monsieur Octave de Beaulieu,” Suzanne replied, 
affecting to take a turn around the room in order to make her final 
observations, “ Mademoiselle Claire’s brother.” 

“Ah! ah!’ said Brigitte, laughing loudly. “It looks to me as 
if this brideman liked the scent of our orange blossoms.” 

“ Come, bonne, you don’t know what you are saying,” said Su- 
zanne, coloring to the roots of her hair. 

The sound of carriage wheels on the sand made a seasonable in- 
terruption to Brigitte’s prattling. Suzanne hurried to the window. 
The lanterns shone out in the darkness, and lighted up the dull ver- 
dure of the trees. 

“ Here they are!” she exxlaimed, as she moved toward the door. 

The baroness, cloaked and hooded as if for an expedition to the 
North Pole, and followed by Octave and the baron, entered, ex- 
claiming: 


74 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


“ It is we— don’t disarrange yourselves— you have a fire here, how 
nice! 1 am a perfect icicle!” 

And drawing up an arm-chair, she installed herself in front of the 
fire, raising her dress and exposing to view two little feet in black 
satin slippers. Then throwing aside her cloak, and drawing a long 
breath, she said: “Ah! that is better.” 

Carriages arrived before the door in rapid succession, bringing 
Mile, de Beaulieu’s relatives, M. Derblay’s witnesses, and a few in- 
timate friends whom it had been impossible to overlook. Among 
the number of these present had been M. Moulinet, Athenai's, and 
the duke. The famous gala berlin and full-dress liveries had done 
duty on the occasion, but unhappily the darkness had not permitted 
the dazzling equipage to produce its full effect. Moulinet would 
have given a hundred francs to have had it at least moonlight, but 
the night star had been incorruptible, and had not shown herself. 

The former judge was in a complete state of disenchantment. 
Coming from Paris to attend a wedding in the great world, he had 
fallen in with the most bourgeon of marriages. He had expected to 
see the cream of the aristocracy represented, and he saw in the 
drawing-room at this moment— whom? The notary who had sold 
Yarenne, and the witnesses tor the pair. It was a perfect mockery ! 

However, there had been a moment of genuine emotion on his 
part, and the marriage had seemed to assume a really royal aspect 
when, on their way to the church, the carriages had passed by the 
compact crowd of M. Derblay’s woikmen assembled silently on the 
square to take off their hats to their patron’s young bride. As they 
stood before the gate, dressed in their Sunday best, to await the 
arrival of the cortege, the crowd of from fifteen hundred to two 
thousand persons, men, women, and children, assumed enormous 
proportions in the midnight darkness. And when, as the carriages 
passed, all the hats were doffed, Moulinet was quite overcome. He 
wanted to smile and bow as he had often seen official dignitaries do 
on fete days, but he was seized with a sudden agitation, a choking 
sensation in his throat, and began to laugh without quite under- 
standing why. 

Recalled to himself by a glance from Athenai's, he alighted from 
his carriage with great dignity, elevating his head superbly, and 
smoothing down the wrinkles of his pearl-gray pantaloons. The 
church he found contracted and dingy; he seated himself with a 
grimace upon one of the wooden chairs of the choir, glancing around 
him with an air of lordly superiority. There were not twenty 
candles burning on the altar, and the sacerdotal ornaments were the 
same that had been used a week before for the marriage of the car- 
penter’s daughter. There was in Moulinet the fund of Voltairian- 
ism natural to a former subscriber to the Steele. A disposition for 
raillery seizing him, he leaned over to engage in conversation with 
the duke, but a glance from the latter made him think it best to de- 
sist. He therefore turned his attention to the ceremony, which was 
being performed as simple as for a pauper. The organ alone, under 
the touch of a skillful hand, accompanied the words of the priest, 
and echoed through the cold bare vaults in tones of subdued melan 
choly. 

The duke was grave and thoughtful, with a pallid face and drawn 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES, 


75 


brows. He had gone back in memory to the burial of his father in 
the somber church of Saint Germain-des-Pres. The same plaintive 
notes, the same darkness pierced by the lustrous flame of the candles, 
the same burning of wax and perfume of incense. At his side was 
his aunt, who wept when she looked at him, and Claire and Octave, 
like himself, in mourning, who tenderly pressed his hands. Now 
he was alone. He had by his voluntary act cut himself off from 
those who had cherished and comforted him. The Claire whom he 
had loved was the wife of another, and he was to be the husband of 
a stranger of whose projects of revenge he recognized that he had 
been made the tool. He had paid his debt to those who had re- 
ceived him when an orphan by returning them evil for good. But 
was not he too punished? And in abandoning Claire had he not re- 
nounced his happiness? 

He contrasted Philippe’s conduct with his own, and was forced 
to confess that the iron -master had been as generous and devoted as 
himself had been ungrateful and selfish. He had been able to marry 
the woman he loved, though dowerless. He was a worker. He 
thought with bitterness of his own uselessness. For a zero to have 
any significance, a figure must be prefixed to it. For him to possess 
any value, his great name must be annexed to that of a rich bour- 
geois. Alone, what was he? A cipher. He was an object of luxury 
to be paraded for sale like a horse. 

These reflections, which he made for the first time, inspired him 
with a profound horror of Moulinet. He saw himself his slave, 
and furious at the sight, resolved to revolt, and to rule him. Athe- 
na’is, too, he saw in her true light as a narrow bourgeoise, basely en- 
vious and malicious. He looked at her as she knelt at her prie-Dieu 
ungracefully stiff in her superb dress, too richly ornamented for a 
young girl, gaping around, and with an air of being veiy much 
bored. Then his eyes rested on Claire, who was kneeling in her 
white veil seemingly deeply engaged in prayer, and by the motion 
of her shoulders he divined that she was weeping. 

And near her stood Philippe, with his tall person and grave severe 
features. Did she love this man? Was it this person that she had 
chosen before himself? A sudden light seemed to flash upon him, 
making plain the true significance of Mile, de Beaulieu’s acts. As 
he watched her kneeling there, so beautiful in her grief, a thought 
crossed his mind which brought a fugitive smile to his lips. The De 
Bligny which he had become for fifteen days past disappeared at once 
and forever, giving place to the cold skeptical, blase whom Russian 
corruption had made. He resolved to avenge himself upon this M. 
Derblay who had humiliated him. Was this iron-beater to be toler- 
ated as the husband of such a girl as Claire? She was weeping, 
she detests him, and she loves me still. 

And his old assurance returned to him. Feeling himself sure of 
his ground, he lost the air of constraint which he had worn hitherto, 
and recovered the careless ease of the grand seigneur, confident in 
his superiority. When the baroness turned toward him at the close 
of the mass, she met his glance so full of irony, that she knit her 
brow with the instinctive hostility of the watch-dog who scents a 
da eious intruder. 



hen they passed into the sacristy, and the bride, raising her veil, 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES, 


76 

looked around upon lier friends and family, the duke sought in vain 
for a trace of the tears which he had seen her secretly shed. Calm 
and smiling, she spoke with perfect ease and freedom. The duke 
was vexed. He would have wished to see her dispirited; but 
though he recognized that he would have her pride to contend 
against, he did not despair of winning a victory. 

When he resumed his seat in the superb berlin with Athena'fs and 
her father, he had to endure the flood of comments which Moulinet 
had been forced to restrain during the ceremony. It was gay, truly, 
this midnight marriage in a sepulchral church. He, the former 
Judge de Commerce, didn’t understand such marriages for his part. 
In three weeks his daughter would be led to the altar, and then it 
should be seen what a marriage meant. It should be celebrated at 
the Madeleine. He had ordered everything of the costliest. All the 
choir illumined, flowers and decorations, choruses and solos — 

“ Soli,” interrupted the duke, who began to be irritated by this 
parade of magnificence. 

“ Solos, soli,” resumed Moulinet, who attached little importance 
to the accuracy of his terminations. “ And lastly, the singing to be 
performed by the artists of the opera, the very best. It will cost 
fifteen thousand francs, but what of that? Moulinet will not marry 
his daughter every day, and it must be talked of for a long time — ” 

“ However little it may be talked of, it will be too much,” said 
the duke, in a tone as cutting as sharp steel. 

“ But, son-in-law — ” interrupted Moulinet, nettled. 

“ But, sir,” again interrupted the duke, “ I am not, in the first 
place, your son-in-law, and you will oblige me by not addressing 
me in a manner that is thoroughly common and vulgar. Lastly, 
here we are at Monsieur Derblay’s, and 1 beg, in the interests of us 
all, that you will have as little to say as possible.” 

And alighting slowly, the duke offered his hand politely to assist 
Mile. Moulinet from the carriage, while the former judge, complete- 
ly nonplused, was wondering whether the duke took him for an 
imbecile. 

Mme. de Beaulieu was seated in the great drawing-room at Pont- 
Avesnes conversing in low tones with Bachelin. She had that 
morning requested the notary to ask Philippe’s permission to ac- 
quaint Claire with the real state of her fortunes. It was but just, 
she argued, now that the marriage was concluded, that she should 
be informed of her husband’s generosity. But Philippe refused 
positively to avail himself of such means to win the affections 
of his wife, or to obtain a gratification to his amour propre by ex- 
torting thanks which she would feel to be humiliating. It was not 
her gratitude he wanted, but her love. 

“Let it be as he wishes,” said the marchioness, “ but 1 doubt if 
in his place I should have shown so much delicacy. It is to be 
hoped that my daughter will learn to appreciate her husband as we 
have done. She is very pale, Bachelin.” 

The notary turned. Claire, pale as death beneath her wreath of 
orange blossoms, might have passed for Juliet rising from her marble 
couch at the voice of Romeo. The duke had just approached and 
bent over her with a melancholy smile: 

“ We are about to separate, Claire,” he said, “ and 1 wish first to 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 77 

speak with you a moment. You can restore peace to me in a word. 
Say that you forgive me.” 

“ 1 have forgotten all. I love my husband. Adieu, duke.” 

De Bligny started. 

“ 1 hope you speak truly,” he said, returning her bravado. And 
he added almost menacingly: “ Au revoir, Claire.” 

“ You are going, duke?” said the baron, stopping him. 

“ Yes,” he replied, coldly, “ I have nothing more to do here. It 
is the husband’s turn.” 

“Eh!” said the baron, “ you speak somewhat bitterly. Confess 
that you felt regrets on seeing Claire married.” 

“ Itegrets! Is it 1 who have them?” he said, indicating Claire 
with a glance, who was hardly able to stand. 

“ That, my dear sir, is a presumptuous and I must add a prepos- 
terous reply. But since you are such a conqueror, do me the favor 
to look at Monsieur Derblay. Does he look like a man to be rob- 
bed of his wife?” 

“ Poll!” said the duke, carelessly, “since Vulcan blacksmiths 
have never had any luck. ’ ’ 

“ Take my advice and beware of the hammer,” said the baron, 
gravely. 

De Bligny shrugged his shoulders, and went to rejoin M. Moulinet 
in a recess of the door. 

“We will go whenever you are ready,” he said. 

“You are not detained here by me,” muttered the former judge. 
“ What a reception! A dry wedding, we bourgeois would call it. 
1, you shall see, will do things differently. 1 shall give two dinners 
and a ball that will make a sensation. And when our guests de- 
part, I promise you it will not be with their stomachs in their heels!” 

Moulinet might have continued to enumerate his projected splen- 
dors; the duke was not listening. He was watching Atlienai's make 
her adieus to the bride. She approached Claire, and taking her 
hands : 

“We will be neighbors in summer,” she said. “ Varenne is only 
a league from here. But how 1 shall miss you in the winter, how 
tiresome I shall find Paris without you. Will Monsieur Derblay 
keep you always a prisoner at Pont-Avesnes? I know there is 
nothing to be desired here. You love and are beloved. Promise to 
think of me in your joys and sorrows should such ever befall you. 
\ou know they will be mine also.” 

“ Be assured,” replied Claire, “ that I value your friendship as it 
deserves. But happiness, you know, needs no confidant.” 

In despair of conquering her intrepid enemy Atlienai’s determined 
at least to spare her no vexation. 

“ Will you kiss me?” she said. 

“ Certainly,” replied Claire, and she touched Atlienai's’ forehead 
with her soft and burning lips. 

But the young wife was at the end of her strength. She took the 
arm of the baroness and led her from the room, saying: “ Let us 
go. 1 am stifling.” 

The marchioness, uneasy, followed her daughter. Claire was 
ready to faint but her strength of will once more conquered her 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


78 

physical weakness, and as her mother leaned over her in anxiety, 
she said affectionately : 

“ It is only a little "fatigue and excitement, I am better now.” 

A feverish flush overspread her cheeks, and her eyes shone 
brightly. The marchioness, who had been kept in ignorance of her 
daughter's mental tortures and anguish, began vaguely to suspect 
that Claire had deceived her. Accustomed to bend to the will of 
others, to take in good part her husband’s infidelities, and to yield to 
her daughter’s affectionate despotism, she had never borne the bur- 
den of any responsibility; like all persons of weak character, it was 
her habit to accommodate herself to circumstances, and she was 
unable to comprehend any attempt to modify one’s destiny. She 
had allowed Claire to follow out her wishes, and now began for the 
first time to ask herself whether she had been prudent. 

“ You are happy, my child, are you not?” she said, putting an 
arm around her. “ 1 am no longer to fill the place of a mother to 
you. Tell me whether 1 have done all that was in my power to 
make you happy.” 

Claire saw the look of anguish in her mother’s eyes, embraced her 
tenderly, and with a last effort at deception : 

“ Y"es, yes, dearest mother, you have made me happy. Give 
yourself no anxiety about me.” 

As the marchioness melted into tears : “ Do not unnerve me now, ’ ’ 
she added in a choking voice. “ They might think — ” 

She did not finish, but pressing her mother once more in her 
arms : 

“ Go,” she said, “ we must part. Till to-morrow!” 

Mine, de Beaulieu, quite reassured by her daughter’s calmness, 
recovered her serenity, and returned without the least uneasiness to 
the salon. 

At the same time Suzanne, unwilling to trust entirely to Brigitte’s 
dexterity, accompanied the latter to Mme. Derblay’s suite of apart- 
ments, and busied herself there lightly as a bird: Claire watched her 
in silent displeasure and suspicion, the thought crossing her mind 
that in her husband’s sister there would be a pair of watchful eyes, 
jealously taking «pte of her pallors and all the beatings of her heart. 

She saw in Suzanne a natural spy, and prepared to detest her. 

Suzanne removed Claire’s veil and toyed with it lightly, straight- 
ening out the flowers and visibly agitated by some wish which she 
hesitated to make known. After a little while she drew nearer, and 
said while her cheeks flushed : 

“ They say in our province that a flower detached from the bridal 
wreath of one whom you love brings happiness. I love you dearly. 
May I take one of these flowers?” 

Claire looked at her coldly, and suddenly tearing off the wreath 
that ornamented her dress, she flung them at her feet. 

“If they bring happiness they are useless to me. Take them, 
take them all!” 

Suzanne drew back in astonishment as the bouquet fell at her 
feet, and turning toward Claire, her eyes filled with tears: 

“You do not care for the flowers,” she said, gently. “ Yet it 
was my brother who gave them to you. ’ ’ 

Claire was touched by the plaintive tone of her voice, and felt a 


THE MASTER OE THE EORGES. 79 

movement of self-reproach. But the violence of her character 
gained the ascendency, and the hand she had held out to Suzanne 
fed again at her side, lifeless and cold. 

“Leave her, my dear,” said the baroness, “ she has need of a 
little quiet. Don’t be vexed, and take your bouquet. It will serve 
you as a model one of these days.” 

And having quite reassured Suzanne, she accompanied her smil- 
ingly to the door. Then, turning to Claire, who remained silent 
and motionless, lost in a gloomy abstraction : 

“What are you thinking about?” she asked. “You have 
wounded the child and very gratuitously ! Why can you not govern 
your nerves? Listen,” she went on with an attempt at pleasantry, 
“ if you were being led to execution to the funeral march in the 
fifth act of ‘ La Juive,’ you could not have a more dejected air.” 

Claire cast a glance so full of reproach at Her friend that the latter 
became grave: 

“ Seriously,” she said, “ what is the matter?” 

Claire rose from her seat, took a step or two at random, then re- 
turning to the baroness, seized her hands in a paroxysm of anguish: 

“ You do not see, then, how I suffer? You do not understand 
that l am going mad? In another moment all you who love me 
will have gone and will leave me alone in this great strange house. 
What shall 1 do? where can I turn? Every link that could" bind mo 
to the past is broken. Every hope that could draw me to the future 
has vanished.” 

“ You are grieving as if we all had totally abandoned you,” said 
the baroness. “ Is not all the old affection still left to you? And 
you will have new friends, sincere and devoted. Your husband is 
here and he adores you. Take courage.” 

The baroness paused. She had observed a shiver pass over Claire 
at the words, “ your husband.” 

“ Oh! if you could know all that is going on in my heart. This 
marriage, that 1 have persisted in, now that it is accomplished fills 
me with horror. 1 want to fly from this man whom you call my 
husband. Do not go— stay — stay with me t »he will not come while 
you arc here. Oh ! this man who inspires the first fear of my life, 
how I hate him!” 

“ Mon Dieu! Claire, you frighten me,” exclaimed the baroness, 
really dismayed. “ Perhaps your mother has not yet gone; shall 1 
call her?” 

“No,” said Claire, quickly. “1 want to hide from her above 
all. You saw how I controlled myself in her presence. She must 
not suspect my terror and despair. Dear mother! out of the weak- 
ness of her love for me, she encouraged and aided this marriage. If 
she could know ! Oh, no, it is enough that 1 should suffer who have 
willed it all. My weakness has been disgraceful, unpardonable. It 
shall not be repeated.” 

And turning upon the baroness, who had become uneasy at the 
hard ring in her voice, an impassible face: “ Go, rejoin your hus- 
band,’* she added, “and have no anxieties for me. Kiss me, and 
when you pass the threshold of this room, forget all that 1 have said. 
Will you promise?” 

‘ * 1 promise, ’ ’ said the baroness. 4 4 Till to-morrow. ’ * 


80 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


And stifling a sigh, she gave a last glance at her friend as she left 
the room, murmuring to herself: “ Poor Claire!” 


CHAPTER XI. 

In the vast apartment Claire was le/t alone. Her eyes wandered 
vaguely about her. The room was grave and severe. The lamps 
shed a soft light over the old tapestry which covered the walls, the 
beautiful series of the loves of Renaud and Armide. Under a 
crimson and gold tent, the knight reclines at the feet of the enchan- 
tress with one arm upraised, holding in his hand a richly chased cup. 
A little further off two ransoming knights are seen crossing the 
forest, their magic armor protecting them from the monsters that 
dispute their passage. Last of all, a representation of a battle be- 
tween the Christians and the troops of the Sultan, under the walls of 
Jerusalem. Armide, standing erect on his chariot, drawn by white 
unicorns, hurls his terrible darts at Renaud, covered with the blood 
of the infidel. Upon a panel was an ebony chest of the Renaissance 
inlaid with many colored marbles, and opposite stood a beautiful 
columned bedstead of sculptured pear wood with a lambrequin of 
Genoa velvet. A chest of drawers in the Louis XIII. style, of black 
wood ornamented with wrought copper filled the room of the com- 
monplace bureau. A superb mirror framed in bronze, with delicate 
leaf work tracery, reflected the dying light of the fire burning in the 
vast chimney-place. Massive copper candelabra fastened to the 
walls, and a Flemish luster suspended from a sunk panel of the 
ceiling, completed the rich and simple decorations. 

Claire remained absorbed in reverie, and indifferent to all about 
her. In her eagerness to accomplish her purpose of consummating 
the act that was to efface in the eyes of the world the indignity to 
which the duke had subjected her, she had shut her eyes to all be- 
sides. She now saw herself face to face with the realities of her 
position forced upon her by the sight of this chamber which was to 
be hers in common with this man, well-nigh a stranger to her. 

All her feelings rose up in revolt at the thought. She felt a hor- 
ror of Philippe and of herself. She had been mad to have dreamed 
of such a marriage, base to have lent herself to it. Her ideas 
rushed through her brain in a rapid, confused tumult. She walked 
to the window, and opened it. The freshness of the night air 
calmed her a little. The moon, which had emerged from the clouds, 
lighted the great trees of the park, and reflected itself in the sheet of 
water. All was calm and still. Claire asked herself whether it 
would not be better to disappear forever in this pure, deep stillness, 
rather than remain to battle with the difficulties of life which were 
so abhorrent to her. For an instant she thought of descending to 
the peaceful smiling waters, and committing herself to them like 
Hamlet’s betrothed, in the stainless purity of her only love. 

But her regard for public opinion, the same dread of “ what will 
the world say,” that had so fatally influenced her conduct, restrained 
her from this act of desperation. She smiled bitterly at the thought 
that Athenai's would declare that she had taken her life for love of 
the duke. She thought with a sentiment of disgust of the sensation 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


81 

this romantic ending would create among her acquaintances; and 
finally she could not bring herself to distress, and almost disgrace, 
her family by a suicide. With a lingering look of regret at the 
sleeping luminous water, she closed the window and seated herself 
at the fire. 

It was done — she knew it well, she was no longer her own mis- 
tress. She must live, and live bound to a man who would come to 
her armed with his rights, who could say to her, “ I will to her, 
who had been always free, always obeyed. She felt at once terror 
and anger. All her pride rose up in revolt againt this subjection, 
and she began revolving in her mind the means of prevailing upon 
her husband to restore to her her liberty. She drew a picture to 
herself of a marriage in which both should retain their freedom. 
Whether Philippe were faithful to her or not she little cared, pro- 
vided he were but respectful and compliant. 

Let him do as he pleased, so he left her her liberty. Would it be 
difficult to obtain, of this no doubt ambitious iron- master, some 
complaisance toward a woman who brought him a considerable 
fortune as well as important family relations? He loved her, how- 
ever — that she had well understood. But she chose not to take 
account of this sentiment. With the despotism of a woman 
habituated to bend all to her caprice, she thrust aside this love, the 
thought of which vexed her, and resolved that if Philippe proved 
exacting she would rebel. She entertained no doubt that she would 
triumph, and in her overpowering egoism gave not a thought to the 
wounds she was about to inflict upon the man who loved her. 

The sound of footsteps in the next room caused her to start sud- 
denly. All the blood rushed to her face. She rose involuntarily, 
and rested her elbow with a shudder on the tall mantel, murmur- 
ing: “It is he!” 

Philippe, after watching the departure of the last guests, turned 
mechanically toward his bachelor’s chamber, reflecting as he did so 
that separated from him by only a few doors w r as the woman he 
loved, in her bridal toilet, more agitated even than himself. How 
often had he anticipated this moment with a thrill of rapture! He 
was surprised now to find himself grave and collected. To his old 
love for Claire was superadded a feeling of protecting tenderness, 
ne felt himself called to heal this wounded heart, and the old feel- 
ing with which he had cherished his sister in her childhood, came 
back to him. He thanked the providence which had blessed him 
with the longed-for treasure, and resolved to prove himself worthy 
of it by insuring his wife’s happiness. 

He surprised himself dreaming thus in his chamber half an hour 
after the departure of the guests. He smiled a little at his foolish- 
ness, and rising quickly passed into his dressing-room. His person 
reflected in the large mirror of his bureau reminded him that it 
would be absurd to present himself to his wife in his wedding-coat 
and cravat, he changed it, therefore, for a dark-blue morning-suit and 
again, quite overcome by his emotions, directed his steps toward 
Claire’s chamber with a palpitating heart. 

He passed through the little salon and tapped with his finger on 
the door. There was no reply. Thinking that he had sufficiently 
announced his presence, he entered. t 


82 


TH E M A ST K R OF TUB FO UG E8. 


Claire was standing, grave and silent, in lier white dress, with her 
elbow resting on the mantel. She did not turn toward him, only 
dropped her head a little, and Philippe saw the coil of golden hair 
gleaming on her white neck. 

He advanced slowly and spoke with effort. 

“ May I enter?” 

Claire made with her hand a gesture of assent. 

Profiting by the permission he glided in and, seating himselt 
in a chair, bent forward almost at her feet. As he looked at her, 
the hard, contracted, expression which her face wore, astonished 
him. He knew that expression, he had seen it before, when she had 
found herself in presence of the duke, and it made him uneasy. He 
felt instinctively that she was gathering up her forces for a contest; 
what her projects were he could not guess, but it was plain that she 
was preparing to withstand him. He determined to penetrate at last 
this obstinately sealed heart, to discover the key of the enigma; and 
he became as calm as an instant before he had been agitated. 

Claire saw the change and was disquieted by it. It might prove 
easy to get the advantage of a husband who was agitated and hesi- 
tating, but in putting him on his guard she had restored to him his 
penetration to divine, and his energy to combat her. 

‘‘We are alone for the first time,” Philippe said in a low voice, 
“ and there is so much on my heart! Hitherto I did not dare to speak, 
1 knew that I should so ill express what I felt. All my life Inis been 
passed in work ; I beg you therefore to be indulgent, and to believe 
that what 1 feel is worth more than what I say. You have seen me 
approach you, stammer a few words and relapse into silence. 1 
feared to be too bold or too timid, so 1 was content to look at you, to 
listen to you, and your voice was sweet to me as a song. I forgot 
everything as 1 followed you with my eyes walking on the terrace 
in a ray of sunlight. You have entered so deeply into my heart. 
You have been my one thought, my hope, my all. Imagine then 
my happiness in finding you here — near me — my own!” 

And seizing Claire’s hand Philippe pressed it passionately to his 
burning brow. She started back and withdrew it. 

“ Monsieur, 1 beg you,” she murmured wearily. 

He raised his head quickly, and looked at her in surprise. 

“ Have 1 offended you?” he asked. 

“ Spare me at this moment, I beg you,” she said gently, “ I am, 
as you see, so agitated—” 

He was moved by the profound distress in her voice. 

“You are pale and trembling,” he said sadly. “ Am I the cause?” 

Claire turned away her head to hide the tears that sprung to her 
e 3 r es, and answered in a quivering voice : 

“Yes.” 

“ Reassure yourself, I entreat you. Do you not feel that it is my 
one desire not to vex you? What would you have me do? Speak. 
Nothing will be hard for me, I love you so!’ 

The young wife started with joy. A gleam of hope seemed to 
shine out of the darkness in which she was struggling. In the 
passionate earnestness of her husband she saw her power over him, 
and pitilessly she resolved to abuse it. She looked at him for the 
first time, with a captivating smile. 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


83 


“ Then— if you love me — ” 

She did not finish, but she made a gesture which Philippe under- 
stood. 

“ You wish me to leave you? Is that the proof to which you 
would subject me? 1 am resigned to it, if it is your will.” 

Claire breathed freely. She felt herself absolute mistress of this 
man who had caused her such terror. The expression of her coun-* 
tenance changed instantly. She turned upon Philippe a radiant face. 

“ Yes, I would thank you,” she said. ” The excitement of to day 
has been too much for me, 1 need quiet. To-morrow, when I am 
more collected, I will explain—” 

Philippe was silent for a moment. lie seemed to discover a false 
ring in Claire’s words. In this embarrassed plea for postponement 
there appeared to be a mystery which he resolved to unravel. 

“ What can you tell me to-morrow or later that 1 may not hear 
to-day?” he resumed. “ Are not our lives henceforth one and in- 
separable? Our path is marked out for us. It is yours to be confid- 
ing and frank, mine to be devoted and patient. 1 am ready to do 
my part; are you so also?” 

The words were spoken clearly and firmly, looking directly into 
his wife’s face. 

‘ ‘ Confidence is not to be won in a moment, ’ ’ she said. ‘ ‘ I have 
been married only two hours. My life has always been made 
happy. I have had the right to think aloud, or to be silent. I have 
had no need of deception. * My troubles, and 1 have had them as 
you know, were divined ; it was understood that memory was not to 
be blotted out in an instant. 1 have been spoiled. No one has re- 
quired me to smile when I was sad. If 1 must be forced to practice 
dissimulation with you, at least give me time to accustom myself to 
such constraint.” 

Claire had with great skill disposed of the necessity to reply to 
Philippe’s question. She assumed the r61e of victim. He felt that 
he would seem cruel to insist. 

“ Say no more 1 beg you,” he said, going in advance of the sacri- 
fice required of him. “ You can never have a friend more tender 
and devoted than I. When 1 married you, I assumed my share of 
your troubles, I undertook to make you forget them. Trust me, I 
am responsible for your happiness. Far be it from me to impose on 
you my love. What I ask is to be permitted by care and tenderness 
to aid you to conquer yourself. This is my whole ambition. And 
since you need rest and solitude, remain here free and secure as yes- 
terday. I leave you, that is what you wish, is it not?” 

Claire was at once irritated and uneasy. The iron-master showed 
himself so great and so noble that all her combinations to recover 
her liberty threatened to end in miserable failure. Could she remain 
separated from Philippe, anticipating her wishes as he did with such 
unexpected indulgence? How without cruel injustice could she con- 
tinue to repulse forever a man so generous and so devoted? She saw 
her danger and resolved to break loose at once and absolutely from 
the ties which bound her to him. 

Seeing that she remained silent he bent forward, and lightly 
touched with his lips the fair forehead of his young wife, “ Adieu, 
till to-morrow!” he said. 


84 THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 

Bat on breathing the perfume of her golden hair, on feeling the 
contact of his lips with her throbbing brow, he lost his self-com- 
mand and by an irresistible impulse caught her in his arms. 

Claire, astonished at first, grew livid. Bending forward, and 
placing her hands against her husband’s shoulders, she disengaged 
herself from the odious contact. 

“ Leave me!” she exclaimed, angrily. 

Philippe drew back. He saw her trembling before him, her face 
distorted with anguish. 

“ What!” he said, in an agitated voice, “you do not give me 
even the right to touch your forehead with my lips? You repulse 
me with violence, almost with horror. You hate me then? And 
why? what have 1 done? Stop a moment! Your words of a moment 
ago come back to me— 1 fancy I see their meaning. After the 
treachery from which you have suffered, there is something more 
than bitterness still remaining in your heart — regret, perhaps — ” 

“ Monsieur!” protested Claire in a hollow voice. 

But Philippe had grown animated. A rising anger brought the 
blood to his cheeks, and he began pacing to and fro with agitation. 

“ Vague protestations between us are useless. The time has come 
for frank and clear explanations. Your conduct toward me fur- 
nishes ground for suspicion that must be cleared up. A woman does 
not so repulse her husband without a cause, you would not treat 
me thus unless—” 

He stopped. The words suffocated him. His breath came 
hard, he grew very pale and his hands shook. Turning to his wife, 
so as not to lose a movement of her countenance. 

“ This man who so basely abandoned you — can it be that you love 
him still?” 

Claire saw that the opportunity had arrived to effect the rupture 
she so earnestly desired. But she hesitated to seize upon it. Her 
husband’s anger terrified her. She stood before him uncertain and 
hesitating, with contracted brow and beating heart, feeling that her 
destiny hung on a thread. 

Her silence completed Philippe’s irritation. Quite beside himself, 
he grasped her arm with violence, and looking at her with kindling 
eyes : 

“ Did you hear?” he said. “ Answer! You must! 1 require it!”' 

His hand on her arm had the effect of a finger on the trigger of a 
gun upon the haughty young wife. Affronted and exasperated she 
looked steadily at her husband: 

“ Well, and if I do?” she said boldly. 

The words were hardly uttered before she regretted them. The 
iron-master drew himself up, his tall figure grew still taller, his face 
wore a terrible expression, and raising his arm like one of his pon- 
derous forge-hammers : “ Wretched woman!” he exclaimed. 

Claire did not move. She bowed her head and let her hands fall 
listlessly at her side as if prepared to receive her death blow. He 
saw it and heaved a sigh, moved oft a step or two, and seized his 
right hand in his left as though he would crush it to punish the 
threatening gesture. Then recovering his calmness : 

“ Let us see,” he said, “ weigh well your words. What you have 
just said cannot be true. It is impossible! I am dreaming, or you 


THE FASTER OF THE FORGES. 85 

wish to subject me to a proof. That is it, is it not? Do not fear to 
confess it, 1 pardon you in advance for the injury you have done 
me. You will know one day that it is wrong to abuse a heart like 
mine. It is a cruel game that you are playing.” 

He forced a smile, but his lips refused to relax. Claire remained 
dull and insensible ; obdurate with the inert tenacity of a block of 
stone. 

“ Speak to me!” resumed Philippe entreatingly. “You are 
silent? It is then true?” 

She made no reply, surrendering herself to the destiny which she 
had prepared, vaguely conscious that she was committing a crime, 
but determined not to relent. 

Philippe turned toward the window, and pressing his burning 
forehead against the glass, strove to recover his composure. He 
understood that the dreadful explanation which he had entered 
upon with his young wife had only just begun, and determined to 
discover how far she intended to carry her revolt, he turned toward 
her. 

“ It was, then, with a heart filled with another that you con- 
sented to marry me? After the indignity of his treatment, after the 
affront which he has put upon you, you love him still! And you 
dare to tell me so! You gave your word to me to be a true and faith- 
ful wife, and this is how you keep it! Without a blush you placed 
your hand in mine. To what degree of moral depravity have you 
fallen!” 

“Monsieur, 1 have no defense of myself to offer.” said Claire. 
“ Is it generous of you to make me suffer so?” 

“You suffer!” exclaimed Philippe. “ And do I not suffer? I 
who love you with my whole soul, who was prepared for anything 
to please you, and who asked of you only a little indulgence and 
affection. To satisfy your wounded pride, to insure your pique 
from being suspected, you have sacrificed me, speculating on my 
confidence, laughing, perhaps, at my blindness. Do you not see that 
your conduct has been atrocious?” 

“ And have you not seen that for fifteen days past 1 have been 
beside myself?” exclaimed Claire, throwing off all self-restraint. 
“ Do you not understand that I struggle within a narrow confine 
from which 1 cannot free myself? 1 have been led on by an irre- 
sistible fatality. I must appear a wretch in your eyes. You can 
never judge me as harshly as I judge myself. I merit your anger 
and your contempt. Take everything, only leave me my freedom. 
My fortune is yours, I abandon it to you. Let it be the ransom of 
my liberty.” 

“ Your fortune! You offer it to me! Tome?” 

He was on the eve of speaking, of acquainting her with the ruin 
which he had kept concealed from her with such scrupulous deli- 
cacy. What a vengeance to take on the haughty Claire ! But he 
instantly rejected the thought as unworthy of him. And calmed by 
the consciousness of his moral superiority over her, he could regard 
her without anger. 

“ Have you in truth,” he said, coldly, “ mistaken me for a man 
who sells himself? In marrying you, did you conceive that I made 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES, 


86 

a speculation? You mistake, you fancied you had still to do with a 
Duke de Bligny.” 

The blow struck home, and starting as though in insulting the 
duke he had insulted herself, 

“Monsieur!” she said, flashing a lightning glance at Philippe. 
But she stopped suddenly. 

“ Well, why do you not go on?” lie said, bitterly. “Defend 
him! it is the least you could do for him. You are perfectly in a 
position to appreciate him, your conduct so closely resembles his. 
Calculation and duplicity — that is your rule, is it not? I see it 
clearly now. You wished to marry a man who would be subservient 
to you, and you chose one who loved and trusted you. A union 
with me was a mesalliance, but my docility would make amends for 
my want of birth. If, by chance, 1 should be disposed to revolt, 
you had wherewith to shut my mouth. A bag of crowns! What 
could 1 say, married to a wife so noble and so rich, I, a vnlgar, sor- 
did man! This was your plan. And when did you acknowledge it 
to me? Honestly, an hour before the ceremony, when there was 
still time for me to decline the bargain? Not so. You let me 
understand it only when it is too late to draw back, when all is over, 
signed, irrevocable, when 1 am securely your dupe and you have no 
fear of my escaping you ! And I have walked blindly into the snare, 
fool that 1 was. Never dreaming of this clever intrigue, 1 came to 
you awhile ago tremblingly, with a throbbing heart to make my 
declaration of love! Was I not more than insensate, more than 
ridiculous? Was I not shameless, ignoble, for it was your fortune 
that 1 wanted and 1 am paid! what right have I to complain?” 

And breaking into a frenzied laugh, Philippe sank on the sofa 
and buried liis face in his hands. Claire had listened to this terrible 
outburst without protest. She was more wounded by her husband’s 
reproaches than touched by his grief. She was in the wrong, but 
the truth irritated without profiting her. She did not hear Philippe’s 
cry of suffering, she was conscious only of the irony of his words. 

“ Monsieur,” she said, haughtily, “ let us cease. Spare me use- 
less raillery.” 

Philippe removed his hands, and raised to his wife a face bathed 
in tears. 

“1 am not railing, madame, 1 am weeping — for my hopes de- 
ceived, for my happiness lost. But enough of weakness. You 
wished to buy your liberty. I give it to you freely. Best assured 1 
shall never trouble it. All ties between us are severed. But as a 
public separation would occasion scandal, I beg that you will spare 
me that. We will live near each other, but apart from each other. 
The day will come when you will learn the truth, and know that 
you have been more unjust even than cruel, and you will wish, per- 
haps, to undo what you have done. Let me assure you that it will 
be useless. You might implore my forgiveness on your knees, and L 
would have for you no word of pity. I might have been indulgent 
to your anger, 1 cannot forget your selfishness and your hardness. 
Adieu, madame, we will live as you have wished. Here is your suite 
of rooms, there is mine. From to-day you no longer exist for me. ” 

Claire bowed her head without a word in token of assent. Philippe, 
with a heart full of anguish, gave a last look at his young wife, 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 87 

hoping to discover some token of hesitation or relenting which 
would restore her to him as he was about to lose her forever. He 
saw her indifferent and icy. There was not a glance of her eye, not 
a movement of her lips. 

He crossed the chamber, opened the door slowly, closed it with 
regret, lingering to hear if an exclamation, a sob, or a sigh, would 
not give him, wounded, humiliated, as he was, a pretext to return 
and offer to forgive before it was too late. There was not a sound. 

“Miserable pride that will not bend, 1 will break it!” he mur- 
mured. 

And retracing his steps as he had come an hour before with a 
heart bounding with hope, he returned to his own chamber. 


CHAPTER XII. 

Tiie lamps burned low. The fire had died out. Claire stood riv- 
eted to the same spot in front of the tall chimney-place striving to 
collect her thoughts. She had emerged with triumph from the con 
test, but had she been deafeated, she could not have felt more thor- 
oughly crushed. Her head seemed to weigh so heavily that she 
could hardly sustain it with her hand. There were strange buzzines 
in her ears, and everything whirled before her eyes, while great drops 
gathered on her brow. She suffered horribly and without strength 
to move or energy to call. 

At length she sunk into a chair, but only to start up suddenly with 
violent pains in her limbs, and began walking to and fro in spite of 
the heaviness of her head. She felt a sharp pain above her left brow 
as if a nail were being driven into her temple, and her pulse 
throbbed with a raging fever. She walked up and down the room 
bent double, groaning with pain, muttering incoherent words be- 
tween the chatterings of her teeth, and with the same tormenting, 
intolerable thoughts forever besieging her excited brain. 

She suffered thus for two hours, unwilling to call for aid, and 
fancying that if she even opened her door her husband would think 
she wished to ask for pardon, and would return. Relying upon his 
word she had not turned the key or drawn the bolt. A sad victory, 
alas ! and one which would have frightened Philippe to witness, for 
the fever had so altered her that she could have inspired now no 
sentiment but one of pity. 

When day began to break she was still pacing her chamber, en- 
deavoring to cheat by movement the increasing pains in her limbs. 
With pale face and lifeless eyes, feeling as if her brows were being 
beaten with a hammer, she dragged herself to the window and gazed 
out for a moment at the reddening dawn. She tried to open it, hop- 
ing that the fresh air would revive and calm her, but she had not 
strength to turn the bolt, and with a cry fell fainting on the floor. 

About nine o’clock Brigitte approaching on tiptoe to ascertain 
whether her mistress was awake, detected the sound of a groan. 
Alarmed, she opened the door and saw Claire lying motionless in 
the spot where she had fallen, talking aloud but unintelligibly. In 
a trice she raised her in her arms, undressed and placed her in bed 
like an infant, and seeing her quieted and refreshed by contact with 
the cool sheets hurried in quest of Philippe. 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


88 

She found him in his chamber and dressed, and taking in at a 
glance the unused bed and the look of distress on her master’s face, 
she shook her head gravely: 

“ Ah! Monsieur Philippe, you have been weeping — and she — ” 

The iron-master grew livid. The idea flashed across him that 
Claire had committed some act of desperation. 

“ Well?” he asked, with a gesture of anguish. 

She perceived his thought. “ No,” she said, “ but so ill!” 

Philippe heard no more. He rushed like a mad man to Claire’s 
chamber. There, on the floor were strewn in disorder the white 
dress, the tumbled skirts, the little slippers, the perfumed white 
satin bodice; and on the pillared bedstead lay Claire with crimson 
face and eyes shining brightly through their half closed lids, while 
gravely, lance in hand, the warriors on the tapestry seemed to be 
keeping watch over her. Philippe might approach. She did not 
know him. He took her hand. It wasjjurning hot. A profound 
torpor had succeeded to the agitations of the night. In alarm he 
dispatched a carriage for the best physician in Besangon, and a mes- 
senger to notify the family at Beaulieu. Then he took his seat at 
the head of Claire’s bed, plunged in agonizing thoughts. Was she 
going to die and all be ended? She remained perfectly motionless 
with eyes open now, only, from time to time, raising her hand with 
a moan to the back of her neck. Evidently she suffered acutely, and 
every moment the delirium increased. 

All the husband’s bitterness vanished at the sad spectacle. Super- 
stitious for the first time in his life, Philippe thought that if Claire 
recovered from this illness it would be a sign that they would end 
by being happy. And to save her was henceforth his one thought. 
He still loved her passionately, in spite of what she had made him 
suffer, even because of it, perhaps. Seated there at the foot of her 
bed he passed two of the most cruel hours of his life. The arrival 
of Mme. de Beaulieu and Octave to assume a share of the responsi- 
bility was an inexpressible relief to him. Fortunately the marchion- 
ess did not give way to floods of tears and lamentations, but after a 
few inquiries and suggestions, took a seat by her unconscious 
daughter’s bedside, and sat there, grave and pale, while Octave in a 
fever of impatience hurried off to meet the physician. 

Toward midday the latter arrived, and it needed little clairvoy- 
ance to divine the nature of the malady. He shook his head and 
muttered: 

“ Very serious!” 

To the questioning glance of the mother, brother, and husband, 
he replied : 

” Meningitis.” 

After listening long and attentively to her breathing he rose and 
said: 

‘ ‘ There is trouble at the heart resulting from a serious derange- 
ment of the nervous system. Send for a dozen leeches and ice. ” 

Suzanne, who was at the door, signed to Brigitte, and the latter 
sped away rapidly. The ) r oung girl had been waiting for two Hours 
in the adjoining salon trembling and anxious, and not daring to 
enter. She glided up to the bed without uttering a word lest she 
should be banished, restraining her breathing and looking with ter- 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 89 

ror at Claire’s crimson face and pale lips. The air of the room felt 
stifling to her, and with the instinct which makes admirable nurses 
of all women she walked on tiptoe to the window and opened it. 
The physician smiled and said: 

“ That is well.” 

Philippe in his absorption had not remarked his sister’s presence ; 
he now turned and held out his arms to her. Suzanne leaned over 
his shoulder. 

“ Do not be afraid,” she murmured, “ we will save her together.” 

But if Claire was to be saved it was not to be by Suzanne. The 
iron-master, dreading her delirium, begged of his sister as a great 
sacrifice to leave them and return to her convent. Claire talked with 
a terrifying animation, and the name of Bligny was forever on her 
lips. She called to him angrily, overwhelmed him with reproaches, 
exposing to full view the cruel wound which her lover’s abandon- 
ment had left in her heart. Philippe too appeared to her in her hal- 
lucinations, but always under a threatening aspect. After having 
killed the duke, he came armed to strike her, with blood on his 
hands, and she would implore him to send her to rejoin her lover. 

And if Philippe must sit beside her and listen in silence to all 
these ravings, he had hope enough in the future to wish to spare his 
sister the knowledge of his misfortune. The time might come when 
it should all have passed away as a mournful dream, and he did not 
wish the shadow of a painful memory to rest between Suzanne and 
Claire. 

And Susanne, grieving bitterly, but yielding as always to her 
brother’s wishes, departed for Besan^on under the escort of the 
faithful Brigitte, leaving Philippe alone in possession of his adored 
invalid. The marchioness, seeing the decision, sagacity, and un- 
wearying watchfulness of her son-in-law, left the charge of Claire to 
him, only assisting him with her presence. 

She would pass the day in her daughter’s chamber, and when 
evening came Philippe took his place at her bedside, and, by the 
subdued light of a lamp placed a little to one side, watched. The 
delirium had not yet subsided, and the fever continued its ravages. 
Her face had grown thin, her cheeks sunken, and such was her state 
of exhaustion that only a feeble murmur now issued from behind 
the hangings of her bed. 

One thought still kept distinct possession of Claire’s brain, a con- 
sciousness that while she lay there ill, the duke’s marriage was tak- 
ing place. By a sort of double vision it all passed before her eyes 
at the very hour in which Athenai's was ascendmg the steps of the 
Madeleine, covered with flowers, and the crowd was following the 
bridal pair into the church. In a lucid moment she raised herself 
and said in a clear voice: 

“ They are being married now, and I am going to die.” 

The marchioness drew closer to her, tried to speak to her and to 
divert her thoughts, but the delirium had regained possession. A 
fearful crisis followed, accompanied by crying and wringing of her 
arms while the drops trickled from her brow over her beautiful dis- 
ordered hair. Philippe sent in alarm for the physician, who was not 
expected before evening. When he arrived he found the fever in- 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


90 

creased. The arteries were like ducts surcharged with vapor, and 
ready to burst. One degree more would he the end. 

It was a horrible day. Philippe awaited the issue of the crisis in 
mortal agony, feeling ‘that his existence was being decided during 
those interminable hours. The thought that perpetually revolved 
through his jaded brains worn out by excitement and fatigue was : 
“ If she lives we will end by being happy.” 

Evening came at last, but not the temporary quiet which it 
usually brought to Claire. She called in heartrending accents to the 
duke. Philippe rose and bent over her, believing her to be uncon- 
scious of his presence. But she opened her eyes and fixed them 
upon him with a look full of horror, made an effort to raise her arm, 
and said, in a hollow voice: 

“You have killed him. What are you waiting for? Why do 
you not kill me too?” 

Deeply wounded at seeing himself so misapprehended, and ex 
hausted by the ceaseless strain upon him, Philippe grew weak as a 
child. He leaned his forehead on the carved pillar of the bedstead 
and wept bitterly, his tears dropping one by one on Claire’s turning 
brow. These tears coming straight from his heart seemed to act as 
a magic filter. The young girl’s features relaxed. She sighed and 
raised herself with difficulty on one arm to listen. Philippe sobbed 
without restraint, believing himself unobserved. A hand was 
stretched out and rested upon his, and a faint voice murmured: 

“ Who is it weeping? Is it you, mother?” 

The iron-master raised his head and met Claire’s eyes turned 
toward him. He drew nearer. She recognized him and her brow 
clouded over, as if she remembered. Then a tear glistened in her 
eye, and she extended her hand to the man whom she had made to 
suffer so much. 

“Oh! it is you?” she said. “ Always you — generous and devot- 
ed. Oh! pardon! Philippe, pardon!” 

The iron-master iell on his knees and kissed passionately the eyes 
that for the first time had looked at him without anger. The young 
wife smiled sadly, then her features contracted painfull}", bringing 
back the expression of hardness, the delirium returned, and she 
began stammering incoherent words. 

For three weeks she hovered between life and death. But this 
crisis proved the last. The disease entered a new phase, and the 
violent agitation was followed by an obstinate torpor. 

“ The comatose period,” observed the doctor. “We have been 
doing all we could to induce sleep, we must now do all we can to 
arouse Madame Derblay. ’ ’ 

Philippe understood that unless there should be a relapse or some 
new complication, Claire was saved. But with the nope for her life 
arose the question how to adjust his own. While she had been in 
danger, his one thought had been to dispute her with death. His 
task now was to dispute her with life. With returning reason her 
repugnance for him would in all probability return. In the pros- 
tration of disease she had softened toward him, and in a moment of 
weakness had asked his pardon ; but when restored to herself would 
she be still humble and submissive? 

He had learned to understand the haughty temper of his wife and 


THE MASTER, OF THE FORGES. 


91 

dreaded a return of her intractable pride. He trembled at the idea 
that she might imagine he intended to profit by her convalescence to 
break the compact made on that frightful wedding night. If he 
seemed to be receding from his engagements, he might forfeit her 
esteem forever. Severity toward her would be indispensable, and 
he felt confident that the strength of his will would sustain him in 
not departing from it. He had sworn to break the pride of his wife. 
The vow should be kept. 

It was January. The season was a severe one. The work of the 
factory, partially suspended during the height of Claire’s illness, had 
resumed its activity, and the sound of the hammers on the anvil 
enlivened her. She found her long convalescence pleasant. Return 
ing life brought with it a sense of enjoyment. The great, severe, 
somber chamber with its antique furniture and ancient tapestry 
panelings, where all was calm, harmonious, quiet, was pleasing to 
her. On the hanging before her bed was a nymph with floating hair 
bearing on her shoulder an urn from which a stream of water flowed 
downward to the plain till it grew into a river. It seemed to her as 
if the beautiful figure contained an allegory, and that from this in- 
clining urn her life was being poured out. 

Through the large windows she could see the trees of the park 
covered with snow and glittering in the sun. The birds beat their 
wings against her window as if to ask an asylum, and she threw 
crumbs to them. She took an interest in everything. Her strength 
was gradually returning and with it a keen delight in the sense of 
being born again, physically and mentally, as she lay idly on her bed 
listening for hours to the ticking of the clock without an idea in her 
brain, lost in a delicious void. 

She and the marchioness passed days together. Philippe now 
came only once, morning and evening, to inquire for her, and as- 
certain if anything was wanted, and after remaining flve minutes, 
walked gravely away. She listened to his step as it became lost in 
the distance, watched for his visits, began to find them too short, 
and to feel slightly irritated against him. 

An opportunity arose to make a little display of temper, and she 
availed herself of it. She expressed a desire for some flowers, and 
the marchioness brought her a bouquet of white lilacs from the con- 
servatory at Beaulieu. When Philippe arrived he was about re- 
moving it to the salon, remarking that she was not yet able to bear 
the scent of flowers. 

“ But I am very well, I assure you,” said Claire; “ there is no 
objection to my having the flowers.” 

“Like all convalescents,” said Philippe, smiling, “you over- 
estimate your strength. We must use our judgment for you.” 

“ 1 must be entirely well, since you can run the risk of opposing 
me,” replied Claire, with a coquettish pout. “ When 1 was ill you 
did not venture.” 

Philippe became immediately grave. He glanced at Claire with 
a look that was sad and severe. She sighed, and said, in an altered 
voice : 

“ You are right. Take the flowers. Thank you.” 

That day she was pensive. As she gradually recovered strength 
to reflect, the past came back to her. She began to question herself, 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


92 

and was astonished to find not a trace remaining of her love for the 
duke. It had dropped from her life like decayed fruit. Her anger 
against Athenai's was also gone. She pitied her, and saw that she 
w r as destined to remain the victim of an incurable envy. She made 
no inquiries respecting the marriage. She supposed it accomplished. 
Every one carefully avoided uttering the name of De Bligny in her 
presence, but it was a needless precaution. She could have 
heard it without emotion. Her heart had been made over new. 

Her convalescence was slow. On her first attempt to rise, she 
fainted and had to be returned to bed. Philippe again took his 
place by her side and began to care for ber with the same impassible 
and silent devotion. She still suffered with her head, and com- 
plained of a shaking, when she moved it, like the beating of the 
tongue of a bell. 

“I was a trifle crazed before my illness,” she said, smiling; 
“ what will 1 be now?” 

She had been just five months married when one beautiful April 
day she was able to go down into the garden, assisted by her mother 
and Brigitte. As she walked, with little steps, in the sand of the 
parterre, it would have been difficult to recognize the girl whom her 
mother had called a *' gargon manque.” Her pinched features had 
grown gentler, there was a softer light in her eyes, and the absence 
of her former erect and lofty carriage made her appear smaller. 

From this day Philippe’s attitude toward her never varied. Gra- 
cious, affable, and attentive, in the presence of strangers, he became 
chilling and gravely courteous when they were alone together, 
adjusting his manner so skillfully that he passed everywhere for a 
model husband. The marchioness, who had not been spoiled by 
the effusions of M. de Beaulieu, and who was accustomed to the 
calm, correct gallantry of the husbands in her world, entertained no 
suspicions of the truth. Her daughter’s domestic affairs she consid- 
ered to be going on admirably well, and quite reassured as to her 
health, she announced one morning her intention to set off for 
Paris, where Octave had been established since January. Faithful 
in his theories of equality, the young marquis had thrown to the 
winds his armorial bearings, and prepared to make of himself a good 
practicing lawyer. 

Claire was therefore left alone with her husband. They met at 
meal hours only. After dinner he escorted her back to the salon, 
took his seat for five minutes, then bade her good-evening, and with- 
drew to his cabinet. Curious to know what he did there, Claire 
threw a cloak around her one evening, went out-doors, and watched 
his shadow pass and repass on the curtain of the lighted window, 
the reflection of the light imparting to it a gigantic height. He 
walked back and forth, slowly and thoughtfully. She returned to 
the chateau, regained on tiptoe the room opposite to his cabinet, 
took her seat in the darkness, watched the line of light under the 
door, and listened to the muffled sound of his regular footfall on the 
heavy carpet. He walked thus till midnight. When the last sound 
had ceased, and all was silence, she heard him open his chamber 
door, and the ray of light vanished. 

What was he thinking about during this prolonged walk? What 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 93 

absorbing thought filled his brain during these long solitary hours? 
Claire would have given much to know. 

Having a desire, she was not a woman long to repress it, and one 
evening, when he was taking leave of her as usual : 

“What do you do, shut up there alone so late at night?” she 
asked. 

“ I am settling up some back accounts,” replied the iron-master, 
quietly. “And by the way, I have some money to hand over to 
you.” 

“ Money?” asked Claire, in astonishment. “ To me?” 

“ The revenues of your property for six months.” And placing 
the notes on the table he added, quietly: “ Be so good as to verify 
the amount, and see if it is correct. ’ ’ 

“ Take it, monsieur,” she exclaimed. “ I cannot accept it.” 

“ You must, it is indispensable,” and he pushed the notes with a 
disdainful gesture toward her. 

She rose prepared for a contest. Philippe’s action and gesture 
had irritated her to her very depths. Her eyes flashed. She was 
again the old haughty, impetuous Claire. 

“ 1 will not,” she said, fixing her eyes on her husband in defiance. 

“You will not?” he repeated, in a tone of suppressed irony. 

Their glances met, hat of Philippe so full, direct and resolute that 
the hand which she had raised dropped again at her side and she 
was silent. 

For the first time she had set her will in opposition to her hus- 
band’s, and had found it broken in the encounter; and it was with 
a mingled feeling of irritation and pleasure that she was driven to 
a recognition of his superiority. Attracted by the force of his char- 
acter, she began to be interested in studying it. In the expansive- 
ness of her return to life, she had resolved to be good and to accord 
a frank friendship to Philippe. She discovered with a feeling of 
pique that she was disposed to grant more than was asked of her. 
When she evinced a readiness to make advances as far as friend- 
ship, he confined himself within the limits of a chilling indifference. 

He betrayed no ill humor. Had he done so, she would not have 
found herself without resource. His manner toward her was that 
of perfect unconcern, and humiliated by his disdainful negligence, 
Claire employed her ingenuity in combating it. Her nature was 
essentially militant. She needed always a difficulty to surmount. 

When Bachelin dined at Pont-Avesnes, Philippe passed his evening 
in the drawing-room. The young wife invited the notary twice a 
week regularly and played whist like a dowager. With Bachelin, 
the iron-master talked and placed, but when the guest had departed 
he became again severe and silent, and the young wife, despite all 
her efforts, made no progress in the conquest of her husband. 

His command over himself exasperated her, and when alone in 
her chamber she gave vent to paroxysms of anger. She trembled at 
feeling that she was dominated. This man was her master. He led 
her as he would, and when she attempted revolt, with a look could 
reduce her to obedience. He hammered his wife’s character, and it 
was in his power to make it assume what form he pleased. She 
shed tears of mortification at the discovery of her weakness, but 
with a lingering of the old pride, concealed her chagrin from 


94 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


Philippe, and appeared always before him resigned without bitter- 
ness, and dignified without rigidity. 

But if Claire was indifferent to what transpired elsewhere than at 
Pont- Avesnes, her friends at Paris did not suffer themselves to be 
forgotten. Since her retoration to health the baroness had written 
with intermittent fervor letters filled with incoherent but curious 
details, and through her Claire had news of the duke, the duchess, 
and M. Moulinet. Atlienaishad made a noisy entrance into society, 
and had become a favorite with the men, but the boldness and free- 
dom of her manners had enlisted all the women against ber. The 
duke gave himself little concern about his wife; three months after 
their marriage he was virtually separated from her, and was offering 
his homage to the beautiful Countess de Canelheilles, an Irish lady, 
with deep blue eyes, changeful and disquieting as the sea. As for 
the duchess, she flirted with a half dozen young elegants with friz- 
zed frontlets and irreproachable ties, apart from whom she was 
never to be seen. She termed her little phalanx of gallants her “ six- 
horse equipage,” and drove it with a steady hand, running no risk 
of being spilled out. 

Moulinet, since he had disposed of his daughter, had undertaken 
projects of importance. He employed a secretary, and shut himself 
up for several hours of the day in a beautiful apartment attached to 
his suite, which he had christened library, though it contained 
not a single book. There he had a treatise on political economy 
spread out on a large desk, over which his daughter affirmed that 
he napped conscientiously from two till five. The baroness asserted 
also that the former Judge de Commerce must be preparing for some 
candidacy. He had been seen in company with mediocre-looking 
persons wiio could be none other than journalists. He had made 
also several expeditions to the Juras. He was engaged in building 
a lay school in his commune, and secretly in restoring the church; 
with his lett hand caressing the Radicals and with his right flatter- 
ing the Conservatives, The chocolate-maker was showing himself 
Machiavelian. 

The fact was that Moulinet had late in life been overtaken with 
an inordinate ambition. He reasoned that having so well managed 
his own affairs he would excel in directing those of others. Was 
1 1 5 ere a man in the Chamber, he asked himself, who could support 
his political position on a more considerable fortune? And the an- 
swer was, No. Having bought a husband, ‘‘the very best to be 
had,” for his daughter, he need not hesitate to buy an electoral com- 
mission for himself. 

He could not decide at once between the Senate and the Chamber. 
Senator! The title had an august sound. He had preserved a sort 
of fetishism for this body, formerly composed of the most eminent 
names in France. But, on the other hand, deputy, too, sounded well ; 
and the Chamber was more active, more animated. He divined 
astutely that in the Chamber he w r ould find a sufficient number of 
men of a mediocre order to enable him to become a man of conse- 
quence among them. 

He had fully made up his mind to shrink from no sacrifice to in- 
sure the success of his campaign, and he went to Yarenne for the 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 95 

purpose of setting up his first stakes. His district was on the fron- 
tiers of Besan^on and the Pont-Avesnes. 

M.Derblay’s influence must be great, and he determined to conciliate 
it. He would visit the iron-master, and he craftily resolved to be 
very gracious and friendly. Not a hint of his project should be 
suffered to escape; he would announce to Claire that he had returned 
to Yarenne for the summer season; he would succeed in satisfying 
her that he had been si mole rather than ill-intentioned with regard 
to her; that, in the affair of the duke, he had merely acted as Athe- 
nais’ unconscious agent. 

At the same time, he established a newspaper al Besangon, in the 
interests of his candidacy, the Courier Jurassien. The editor-in- 
chief was one of the mediocre-looking persons, who had been with 
the former Judge de Commerce. He had chosen the most presentable 
among them, and, on being offered an assortment of political con- 
victions, from which to make a selection, Moulinet had fixed upon a 
nice little Republican opinion floating between the right and left 
centers, of a shade deep enough for tne impassioned, and light 
enough for the timid. Something like the words of the “ Marseil- 
laise ” to the air of “ Queen Hortense.” 

For the rest, the complexion of his candidacy disquieted Moulinet 
very little. For his conclusive argument he counted on his bag of 
crowns, and justly. 

His projects annoyed the duke excessively. It was the opinion of 
the latter that his father-in-law, having won his fortune, had noth- 
ing to do but enjoy it, and he favored him with his views with the 
lightly impertinent familiarity which was his habitual tone with the 
former judge of commerce. 

“ What on earth induces you to meddle with politics?” he asked. 
“ Are your affairs too prosperous? A strange lunacy it is that leads 
quiet people to be putting their fingers in brawls! Do you know 
they might be stupid enough to elect you?” 

“ That, my dear duke, is what 1 expect.” 

“ And we will see what it will cost you.” 

“ What is that to you?” 

“ A great deal. 1 married an only daughter, and you are giving 
her a sister.” 

“ A sister?” 

“ Certainly, politics! And a sister who will have a whole host of 
children : all your courtiers, agents, aids, patrons, defenders, not to 
mention the electors who will devour you at their pleasure, and 
Heaven knows where it will end!” 

Moulinet made an imposing gesture, and striking his vest-pocket, 
a deplorable habit of his, of which he could not rid himself : 

‘‘My means, son-in-law, admit of the indulgence of all my ca- 
prices. I am only sixty. I might entertain danseuses. ” 

“ And I would not call it a crime! At least, such follies as that I 
can comprehend. A little foot, a pretty ankle, a round figure im- 
prisoned in the gold circle of the Egyptiennes in the ballet of 
* Faust,’ and a pair of black eyes, or blue, searching for you in the 
orchestra— perfect! It is worth the trouble. But, to turn your dec- 
larations of love, to offer your bouquets, to pay over your income to 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES, 


96 

Marianne? Monsieur Moulinet, you distress me seriously. Let me 
advise you to take to the danseuses. ” 

“ 1 am grieved, my dear duke, but 1 have morals. I prefer poli- 
tics — ” 

“ Much good may they do you! Shall you speak when you are 
elected?” 

“ Very probably.” 

“ It will be gay! I shall go to hear you, and take my friends. 
But try not t,o become a minister. You would end by compromising 
me!” * 

Disdaining the banter of his son-in-law, Moulinet proceeded in the 
execution of his projects. He went early in the spring to establish 
himself at Varenne, and began to work up his electoral matter. 

The marchioness, about the same time, returned to Beaulieu, and 
Suzanne had been withdrawn from the convent, bringing with her 
life and animation, and relaxing to outward appearances, at least, 
the relations between the husband and wife. 

Philippe had to act the part of a tender husband before Suzanne, 
and he acquitted himself so well that no suspicion of the truth en- 
tered the young girl’s mind. 

She believed her brother to be perfectly happy. As for Claire, she 
no longer recognized her. The proud, repellant Mile, de Beaulieu 
had grown simple and smiling, and Suzanne found in her a gentle, 
thoughtful affection, which was that of both mother and friend. 

The youth of Claire, suppressed by anxiety, disappointment, and 
chagrin, had begun to flow again like the sap of a tree. The two 
sisters never quitted each other. 

Suzanne had recommenced her customary rounds among the work- 
men, and Claire accompanied her everywhere, like a beneficent fairy. 
The monev which had been placed in her hands by Philippe was 
employed in aiding the unfortunate. Together, the pair were to be 
seen on the Pont-Avesnes road, dressed simply and sheltered by 
large umbrellas, accompanied by a russet dog of Philippe’s. 

In a few months Claire had become the idol of the workmen. She 
was well known to all the working population who had often seen 
her pass on her horse, indifferent and absorbed, thinking of the duke, 
and touching her hat, with a distrait air, with the handle of her 
riding- whip when they bowed to her. 

They had thought her proud, and styled her, as they did her moth- 
er, “ The Marchioness.” And, having become Mme. Derbiay, she 
still remained for them “ the marchioness.” 

To all these men she was a being of superior race — so white she 
was, so slender, so elegant, even in her simple woolen dress, that, 
in the muddy streets of the Pont-Avesnes, or at the door of their huts, 
she appeared in their eyes like a young sovereign. They adored her. 
Octave returned to Beaulieu in July, and the sports began. There 
were delicious drives through the woods in a basket- phaeton, driven 
by Claire, Octave following on horseback. They proceeded slowly 
beneath the overhanging branches, and through the grasses, follow- 
ing in the ruts made by the wood -carts. 

Sometimes it was necessary to alight, and Octave would push the 
phaeton while Suzanne led the horse by the bridle, Octave’s mare 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 97 

following on behind as gently as a lamb, looking at Claire out of her 
great, liquid eyes, as if to beg for the accustomed lump of sugar. 

These were happy days, and Claire forgot her sadness; but when 
evening came, and she found herself in her great chamber, she had 
intervals of profound discouragement. She had destroyed her life, 
and without remedy. She knew Philippe well enough to be assured 
that he would never return to her. . He would remain faithful to 
the compact which had been made between them. He had restored 
her her liberty, and would leave it, as he had said, undisturbed. 

With what joy would she have surrendered it ! Impetuous and 
proud, she had had to deal with a stronger than herself. It was 
with a bitter pleasure that she recognized that she was mastered. 

A man had come and placed his hand on her shoulder, and had 
bent it. And she loved him for the very reason that he had made 
her feel the weight of his will. 

In the long hours which she passed alone, she bitterly reproached 
herself for not having sooner discerned the superiority of the man 
whom she was to marry. She recognized fully now the importance 
of the position which he held in the country. 

Each day she discovered, with astonishment, one of the numerous 
sources of the iron-master’s wealth. She learned, with surprise, that 
he was on the way to become one of the princes of industry, that 
dominant force of the century. 

She felt overwhelmed with shame. It was to such a man that she 
had offered her fortune as a compensation for the wrong she meant 
to do him! What was her fortune, added to the ironmaster’s vast 
wealth? A drop of water in a lake. She felt how odious and ridic- 
ulous had been her pride; and thought, with an intense chagrin, how 
Philippe must despise her. 

But, following his example, she succeeded, by a strong effort of 
will, in hiding her feelings in her own breast. 

But her tenderness for him would betray itself in her own despite. 
She could not prevent the joy with which she welcomed him from 
breaking out on her countenance. She had no eyes but for him ; 
and all her ingenuity was exerted in devising ways of pleasing him. 
She loved Suzanne dearly for her demonstrativeness. 

One day, as they were seated on the terrace, Suzanne amusing 
herself by passing a blade of grass along her sister-in-law’s neck, 
Claire threw her arms around her. Philippe was sipping a cup of 
coffee, with an air of unconcern, following with his eye the flight of 
the martins. 

Claire looked in Suzanne’s face affectionately, sighed, and mur- 
mured, as she touched the light curls on her forehead with her lips: 

“ Dear child, how like your brother you are!” 

Philippe had heard. He started. Nothing equally direct had 
ever come from Claire’s heart to his. He sat motionless for an in- 
stant, then, without a word, he walked away. 

Mme. Derblay brushed aside a tear, and Suzanne threw her arms 
around her with a fury of affection. 

“ You are weeping!” she said; “what is the matter? Oh! tell 
me. You know how I love you. Has Philippe wounded you? You 
know he could not mean it. A word would be enough. Shall I tell 
him?” 


4 


98 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


“ No,” said Claire, quickly. “ 1 am a little tired. Philippe could 
not be better to me; and I am very happy,” she added, looking fix- 
edly at Suzanne, as if to impress the conviction on her mind. Then, 
rising: “We will take a little turn,” she added, gayly. 

And they went together to the park, racing like two lunatics, 
and laughing as though nothing had occurred. 

It was one of the last of Claire’s comparatively happy days. 

The next day the Duke and Duchess of Bligny arrived at Yarenne. 

The news of their arrival vexed her, for she had hoped never to 
See them more. She remarked that Philippe observed her with more 
attention than usual. 

After Suzanne had retired, he approached the subject of the rela- 
tions which they were to establish with Yarenne. 

‘ ‘ After your brother, the Duke De Bligny is your nearest relative, ’ * 
he said, very quietly. “ There has been no open rupture between 
you. You even made it a point to maintain good relations with him 
at the time of your marriage. I think it would not be well to alter 
your line of conduct now. However, it is a question which con- 
cerns you more than any one else. Let me know your wishes, and 1 
will conform to them.” 

Claire was silent. This new intervention of the duke and AtlienaYs 
in her life seemed to her fraught with danger; an instinct warned 
her that misfortune would enter it with them. She was on the eve 
of speaking — of opening her heart— of imploring pardon, perhaps. 
But she did not dare. 

“ You are right,” she said. “ They must be well received, and 1 
thank you for imposing this restraint on yourself. Be assured that 
the presence of the duke will be as painful to me as to you.” 

Philippe answered by a motion of the head which signified noth- 
ing, and the conversation rested there. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

It had not been the choice of the duke to establish himself at 
Varenne. Parisian to the core, he could not endure the country; the 
plane-trees of the boulevards and the chestnut-trees of the Champs 
Elysees were verdure enough for him. The temper of his mind was 
far from contemplative, and reading he detested. The club where 
he passed his afternoons, and for the most part his evenings, con- 
stituted the sum and substance of life for him. He now found him- 
self bored by his wife and father-in-law in very superior fashion, 
and solitude had come to be precious to him. He shut himself up 
in the smoking-room every day after dinner, where, extended on a 
large divan of Havana leather, he slept with clinched fists. At the 
end of a week of this existence, unable to endure it longer, he an- 
nounced that pressing business called him to Trouville, when Atlie- 
naYs proposed to him a visit to Pont-Avesnes. 

The proposition surprised, and at first rather displeased the duke. 
The thought of Claire had gradually faded from his mind, but he 
had preserved a recollection of the iron-master very distinctly. He 
had grown indifferent to the -wife, but had not ceased to cherish a 
feeling of resentment against the husband. Why, it would have 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


99 


puzzled him to say. Perhaps because he had been made the accom- 
plice of Claire’s public affront to him. Perhaps because he was the 
very opposite of himself. At all events, he was conscious of an in 
stinctive hostility toward the man whom he stiff styled “ the black- 
smith.” Nevertheless he was curious to see what turn this 
marriage, so singularly contracted, had taken, and, without much 
importunity, suffered himself to be prevailed on to accompany liis 
father and wife to Pont-Avesnes. ” My departure,” he said to him- 
self, “ will, be delayed but one day, and it is due to poor Claire that 
I should show her some civility at least.” 

He felt sorry for her, and had formed in his mind a singular con- 
ception of the existence which she must be leading. He thought oi 
her as having grown contracted and sordid, as entirely engrossed in 
affairs of business, keeping her husband’s accounts perhaps, and 
wearing black percale with sleeves down to the w r rist. 

He had seen Pont-Avesnes only at night, and was surprised to 
find himself entering a handsome court with an elegant. French 
parterre, and also at the severe majesty of the chateau. The lack- 
eys were in good style, there was nothing of a provincial air about 
them, he saw the salons in their splendor^ of luxury, and was forced 
to admit that Mine. Derblay’s household appointments were of the 
most enviable. 

Claire’s entrance embarrassed him. She w'as no longer the Claire 
whom he had known. She was not more beautiful than the woman 
whom he remembered; she was different: simple, grave, yet with 
an air of command which made him feel constrained aud awkward. 
M. Derblay was too good-looking not to arouse his displeasure, and 
for the first time he observed that he was decorated. The duke was 
silent and abstracted during the visit, and during the ride home con- 
tinued taciturn. But at dinner his apathy suddenly gave place to 
an animated volubleness. The next morning he said nothing of the 
pressing business which called him from Yarenne. 

But he shut himself up more than ever in the smoking-room. 
Only he did not sleep. Extended on his divan, he smoked the 
Levantine cigars, which conduce to reverie, following with his eyes 
the wreath of blue smoke which seemed, as it curled upward, to 
pursue a fugitive form. The fair face of Claire as he had seen it in 
the subdued light came before him. He closed his eyes and he saw 
it still. 

Determined to escape from the haunting vision by movement, he 
had his horse saddled and rode in the park, givimr his steed free 
reins. It was four o’clock, and the w r oods were beginning to till 
with uncertain sounds, the racing of vagabond rabbits stirring the 
leaves of the thickets, the occasional start of a magpie from the top 
of an oak beating the air with its short wings, and uttering shrill 
cries. The day had been warm, but the air was now cool and fresh, 
a balmy fragrance arose out of the earth, and golden rays from the 
setting sun were piercing the forest trees. 

The duke put spurs to his horse and set off at a gallop. He had 
emerged from the park without perceiving it, the charming phantom 
that still haunted him flying ever before him and leading him on. 
His horse bore him to the edge of the woods, he saw before him a 
low wall above which were dense overhanging branches, and an ex- 


100 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


tensive green lawn, at the further end of which arose a white build- 
ing. The duke started. He had recognized Pont-Avesnes. 

Chance then had led him toward her from whose sight he was fly- 
ing. Was Destiny about to bring together those she had parted? 
His words to the baron the night of the marriage came back to him: 
“ Since Yulcan blacksmiths have had no luck.” He forgot the ter- 
rible hammer with which the baron had threatened him ; and after 
forming a resolution to himself, he returned with a less heavy heart 
to Yarenne. 

It had not been without an afterthought that the iron master had 
resolved to show an easy cordiality to the duke. Nothing would 
have been easier for him than to restrict his wife’s intercourse with 
her relatives within the limits of the most formal neighborly associ 
ation. But he had formed a plan the execution of which involved 
the opening of his house to them. 

During the long hours passed by Claire’s bedside, he had gone 
over the events that had preceded his marriage, had taken into ac- 
count the animosity with which Athenai's had pursued her rival, and 
in assigning to the duchess her share of the blame, he felt more dis • 
posed to make excuses for Claire. But he could not depart from 
the severity of his conduct toward her. The conflict upon which he 
had entered must end in victorj r for himself, and in reparation for 
the affront to which he had been subjected. He saw that Athenai's 
had a role to perform in the dangerous game winch he meditated. 
The battle was to be fought out between her and Claire, between 
the duke and himself. It would be a bitter warfare on a battle-field 
full of treacherous pitfalls. It might end in the death of a man, 
but what had he to lose? His existence was compromised, his hap- 
piness lost. He could only gain by trying the venture. He was 
prudent, however, as well as resolute; and reflecting that the posi- 
tion of Claire would be too isolated, since he must not appear in her 
defense, he determined, in order to provide for her a faithful ally, 
to invite the baroness to come with her husband and pass a few 
weeks at the chateau. The forces would thus be equalized, and 
there would be nothing to do but to await the result of the engage- 
ment. 

It had been apparent from the first that the duchess’ intention 
was to revolutionize this quiet corner of the province. She invited 
thither from Paris the most brilliant pair of her two-horse equipage. 

. “La Brede and Du Tremblays,” she said with a laugh, “will 
suffice for the country. They will be harnessed en poste, and with 
plenty of bells the effect will be fine.” 

And La Brede and Du Tremblays arrived with a cotillon, a lawn 
tennis, and a polo, among their effects; and as though the devil of 
Paris had sprung from their valises, hardly had they set foot at 
Yarenne than existence there became a frenzy of excitement. Be- 
sanyon furnished a band of ten musicians, for every Saturday there 
was dancing at the chateau. From all the chateaux around, berlins, 
britzskas, wagonettes, a motley array, some in the style of the Resto- 
ration, made the road to Yarenne resound with the rumbling of 
wheels. Gayly dressed squires, with muscles hard as the rocks of 
their native mountains, set to propelling balls at lawn tennis, send- 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 101 

ing the polo ball at a gallop over the lawn, and dancing whole even- 
ings through with indefatigable vigor. 

The heart of Moulinet rejoiced to witness the aristocracy of his 
district roused to passionate ardor by his daughter. “ So many 
guests, so many voters,” said the candidate to himself. He stimu- 
lated the duchess’ zeal, allowed her unlimited credit, and while the 
daughters and wives were dancing, took in hand the fathers and 
husbands. He had one source of vexation, however. Neither the 
prefect nor the general in command attended the soirees at Yarenne. 
Perhaps it was too aristocratic a gathering for the civil representa- 
tive, and the military chief perchance deemed it prudent to refrain 
from exhibiting his stars in the duchess’ salons. 

“ What matters it whether or not the piefect comes, provided the 
citizens vote for you?” said Athenai's. *‘ Have an attack made on 
him by the Courrier , make them tell some stupid story about him. 
Shall 1 get it written by La Brede? It would be droll. As for the 
general, he is a cipher; his soldiers don’t vote.” 

Athenai's had a more serious cause of chagrin of her own. Mme. 
Derblay had excused herself from attending the Saturday soirees, 
pleading that she was not yet able to bear late hours. The duchess, 
whose main object in these fetes, had been to secure the presence of 
Claire, devoured her wrath with difficulty, and had spells of ill hu- 
mor which dampened the gayety of all about her. Not to be in a 
position to overwhelm her rival with the spectacle of her splendor, 
and to plunge daggers into her heart by exhibit ing herself on the 
arm of the man who was to have been her husband ; not to see how 
she would start when she heard her addressed as madame the 
duchess, was to forfeit all the pleasure she*had promised herself. 
Her hatred, wtiich might have been appeased by the spectacle of 
Claire’s humiliation, was aggravated by her resistance, and by the 
haughty repose of her countenance. 

Claire came once to Yarenne to dinner, upon which occasion her 
conduct and bearing were adjusted with perfect tact. The petulant, 
intrusive duchess appeared by the side of her high-born and elegant 
rival in the light of an ill-bred little woman, acting and speaking as 
her impulse prompted, with the unrestrained freedom of the million- 
aire parvenu. All the advantage was on the side of Claire, and 
Athenai's knew it. She would have been capable, had she not been 
afraid of the consequences, of disfiguring and destroying with vitriol 
the beautiful tranquil eyes in which she read such a world of dis- 
dain. 

What irritated her more than aught else was the good understand- 
ing that seemed to exist between M. and Mme. Derblay. The hus- 
band was thoughtful and attentive, and there was no mistaking the 
smile on Claire’s face when Philippe was by, and she felt herself 
under his protection. She loved. And surely she was loved. It 
could not be that the iron-master did not adore her, gifted as she 
was in person and mind, and had he not married her for love? Had 
he not overlooked all the humiliating strangeness of the situation, 
accepting her ruined in fortune and abandoned by the duke with a 
simple happiness, as though he had won some rare treasure? It was 
Claire’s destiny then to be loved, whilst hers was to leave men in- 
different. True she was courted, but what was this mere drawing- 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


102 

room gallantry to the deep unalterable love which it was Claire’s 
privilege to inspire? 

In the fury of her jealousy, she concentrated her efforts upon M. 
Derblay and absorbed him a great portion of the evening. In truth 
she admired him. With his bronzed complexion and black hair 
cut close on his forehead, he resembled an Arab. Athena'fs thought 
that if any man were capable of capturing her fancy it would be 
Philippe. And delirious at the idea of exciting the jealousy of 
Claire, she gave free vent to her natural coquetry with an animation 
which astonished herself. She remarked with fiendish exultation 
that Claire’s face clouded over, and that she observed her anxiously. 
She told herself that she had discovered the weak point in her 
rival’s armor by which she might hope to deal her a mortal blow. 
Philippe’s attitude toward her was that of a well-bred man who is 
the object of flattering attentions from his hostess. He accepted 
her advances gracefully, gave her his arm to promenade the salons, 
was just assiduous enough to exhibit himself in a very agreeable 
light, and just cold enough to make it impossible for any one to 
distinguish a difference between his manner to her and to any other 
lady present. 

But master of himself though he was, it would not have escaped 
an attentive observer that he was the prey to a violent agitation. 
While the duchess strutted with him like a young peacock, exhibit- 
ing to him the salons and conservatories, he had seen Gaston and 
Claire speaking apart with each other. The blood rushed hotly to 
his face, and his arm contracted, pressing with sudden violence the 
hand of the duchess, who glanced up at him in surprise. They 
were in a little cons(#vatory called by Moulinet “ the tropics,” in 
whose damp warmth were growing poisonous plants of India and 
Africa. 

“ What is the matter?” asked the duchess, smiling and returning 
a slight pressure to the arm of her escort. 

“ The heat and perfume here are somewhat oppressive,” replied 
the iron-master, recovering himself. “ Shall we go in?” 

And they returned slowly to the salon, his eyes fastened upon the 
duke and Claire who continued to talk apart. 

The duke upon rising from dinner had conducted some of the 
guests to the smoking-room, and placed at their disposal a varied 
collection of cigars and cigarettes. At the end of a half hour plead- 
ing his duties as host he had left them there amid a cloud of smoke. 
His design was to contrive an opportunity to approach Claire. He 
knew, however, her impulsive temper, and with all his assurance, he 
hesitated, feeling that the first words spoken between them would 
have an important bearing on their future relations. He was uncer- 
tain whether it would not be wiser to abstain until time had made the 
ground firmer beneath his feet. But De Bligny had reached a point 
of cynical egotism that would noi permit him to postpone the gratifi- 
cation of a caprice. He made gradual approaches in her direction, 
making short pauses by the ladies, narrowing the circles between 
them like a bird of prey. It was in this way that he had succeeded 
in reaching the back of her chair. Bending over near enough to 
breathe her delicate perfume: 

'Are vou well this morning?” he asked, in a caressing tone. “ 1 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 103 

have come almost tremblingly to inquire for you, uncertain as 1 am 
whether you can see me without displeasure. ” 

Claire turned quickly and looked the duke full in the face. 

“ And why should 1 see you with displeasure?” she asked. 
“ Should 1 have come to your house had 1 entertained such feelings 
toward you as you attribute to me?” 

The duke shook his head sadly. 

“ This is the first opportunity we have had to speak freely to- 
gether since your marriage, and I see that we are not yet to speak 
frankly. It. has been one of the troubles of my life that 1 should 
have seemed blameworthy toward you while it was out of my power 
to make the explanations which might have absolved me. ’ ’ 

‘‘You have no need of absolution, let me assure you.” replied 
Claire, tranquilly. “ Have 1 reproached you? Such a belief as that 
would evince a strange fatuity on your part.” 

“You relieve my conscience of a heavy burden,” resumed the 
duke. “ My marriage was one of the fatal necessities of Parisian 
life. I found myself in a position which made it necessary to 
choose between my happiness and my honor. 1 had two debts to 
discharge, and in satisfying one I must leave the other unpaid. 1 
sacrificed my love to save my name. That, Claire, is what I felt that 
I must say to you.” 

“ In other words, Monsieur Moulinet extricated you from an em- 
barrassing position, and you in return married his daughter — and 
several millions of dowry. Come, duke, ‘ penitence is sweet,’ as the 
song says. And, besides, if 1 understand you aright, you have the 
sense of duty fulfilled to sustain you in this trial. You must be 
happy, therefore, and I am delighted — ” 

The duke winced under the sting of her irony. 

“ Aud you?” he said, suddenly. “ Are you happy?” 

“You are the last man in the world who could have the right to 
ask such a question,” she retorted, proudly. 

At this moment, the duchess returned with Philippe. The duke 
indicated by a gesture her husband with Athena'is on his arm. 
Claire turned pale. 

“ You deserve to be better loved,” he said, looking at her with a 
profoundly satirical expression. 

Claire shuddered at the thought that the duke had perhaps pene- 
trated her secret. She saw the dangers to which she would be ex- 
posed if the evil thought should enter his mind to occupy himself 
with her. How could she continue her work of conquering liei 
husband? How prevent him from being. incensed at the duke’s pur 
suit of her? Or with this dangerous assailant to ward off, how 
could she be free to combat the duchess who was striving to en- 
tangle Philippe in her coquetries? She resolved upon flight, and 
making a sign to her husband which brought him immediately lo 
her side, she requested him to ask for her Carriage, aud cutting short 
Athenai's’ blandishments, and with a distant bow to the duke, the 
young wife led away Philippe with as much precipitation as if the 
chateau had been on fire. 

When she found herself rolling over the road through the soft 
transparent night, she felt herself saved and ventured a question: 

“ What did you think of the duchess?” 


104 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


“ Charming,” replied Philippe, absently. 

Claire shrunk back in a corner of the carriage with a movement 
of ill humor which in the darkness was unobserved by Philippe. 
She had heard only the word “ charming,” and did not remark the 
profound indifference with which it was spoken. 

“We will not go any more to Varenne,” she said. 

As she spoke, there passed before the eyes of Philippe a vision of 
the duke’s elegant figure bending over Claire, murmuring soft 
words with a perfidious smile, and with a choking at his throat and 
menace flashing from his eyes, he clinched his robust fists tightly. 

They did pot return to Varenne. M. Moulinet’s invitation was 
returned to the duke and duchess, but they persistently declined the 
aggressive courtesies of their neighbors. Athenais, exasperated, be- 
gan to find “ La Brede ” and “ du Tremblays ” tiresome, and took 
no pleasure in waltzing with the gentleman farmers. There were 
fireworks, tilling on the Avesnes, crowning of rosi&res to fanfare 
accompaniments. They led the noisy gay fatiguing life which 
Athenais adored, but it was all in vain since Mme. Derblay was not 
there to witness her triumphs. The marchioness, freed upon the 
heights of Beaulieu like a solitary turtle-dove, had not set foot at 
Varenne, and the absence of M. and Mme. Derblay began to give 
rise to comment. The Baroness de Prefont with her nimble tongue 
having arrived at Claire’s, Athenais saw that an embroilment be- 
tween Pont- Avesnes and Varenne was a thing to be apprehended. 
She must break the ice which was thickening between the two 
households till it threatened to become fast ice. Some almost public 
entertainment to which all the best society of the country should be 
invited could alone serve as a pretext. 

An inspiration which came to La Brfide, without malice on his 
part, furnished the occasion. He proposed a rallye — paper hunt — in 
the woods of Varenne and Pont- Avesnes. The civil and military 
authorities were" to be invited, and every one would follow the 
chase. A gigantic lunch would be prepared at the rond-point of 
the Etangs. In a word, it was to be a hunting fCte which should 
furnish a theme even for the journals of Paris. 

Athenais well-nigh embraced La BrMe for this inspiration of his 
genius. And starting her father out to issue invitations, she went 
herself to Pont- Avesnes and returned, radiant, with a favorable reply. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

The rond-point of the Etangs was situated between the woods of 
Pont- Avesnes and those of Varenne. A succession of ponds extend- 
ing the distance of four or five hundred metres covered with rushes 
and large-leaved plants with shining stems, had given it its name. 
The oaks spread over them their branches as if thirsting for the cool 
moisture, and the fallen leaves of successive autumns formed a 
thick slime along its banks in which the boars delighted to wallow. 
Fences painted white inclosed a cross-road two "hundred metres 
wide, covered with a thick soft turf and enormous beech trees with 
grayish trunks, and dense foliage surrounded the rond-point with 
their cool shades. The eight roads twenty metres in width, and 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


105 

skirted by red-tinted heather, met at the cross-road and became lost 
in the dense forest. It was a spot full of silence and mystery. The 
waters sparkling with light and rippling in the breeze mirrored the 
quiet azure of the sty. M. Moulinet, a passionate lover of fair 
nature, seduced by the beauty of the landscape, had dishonored the 
spot by erecting on it a Chinese kiosk. 

In the middle of this vast cross-road was placed a table where 
valets in grand livery dispensed refreshments to the guests of the 
duchess before they started upon their long circuit. For an hour 
La Br^de coupled to the faithful Du Tremblays had been occupied 
in scattering bits of paper through the copses to indicate the trail 
and preparing the false scents with conscientious care. 

Through all the roads leading to the rond point came riders, 
breaks, Amazons, and calashes. The bright dresses of the women 
shaded by umbrellas of many hues, and the blue jackets of the hus- 
sars, formed gay groups beneath the gloomy shade of the trees. The 
horses, held by guards in green uniform and round caps, kept their 
gourmand mouths close to the fresh grass, and there was a clashing 
of stirrups, a neighing of steeds, and a popping of corks from cham- 
pagne bottles. 

In a tight-fitting riding-habit, and waving in her gloved hand a 
whip ornamented with an enormous cat’s-eye Athenai's did the 
honors to her guests with surprising gayety, ease, and grace. The 
ladies were seated on the cushions of the duke’s great mail-coach 
which had been arranged for them along the sloping turf. Moulinet 
in a blue coat and pearl-gray gloves — at ten o’clock in the morning 
— had taken possession of the baron for whom he had been seized 
with a tyrannical affection. The duke wore the English full-dress 
hunting-suit, a red coat, white kid trousers, and black velvet cape 
with a green knot in the back, field green being the color of his 
armorial bearings. Philippe wore black as usual with gray velvet 
trousers, and spatterdashes. 

Claire and the baroness, as if they had adopted a uniform, wore 
each a plain blue cloth riding-habit and round hat with a black 
plume, and were adorable in this simple costume. The sun gilded 
the trees and threw a bright light over the brilliant tableau. 

“ Monsieur Derblay!” exclaimed Athenai's, suddenly breaking off 
a conversation with the much-desired prefect, “ do you not think it 
is time to start? It has been an hour at least since the gentlemen set 
off with their papers, and if they have made good time we shall have 
a hard gallop to come up with them.” 

“ I confess 1 am but little acquainted with this sort of exercise,” 
said Philippe. “ Ask Pontac, who as master of the hounds must be 
well informed.” 

A tall youth in a hunting-coat ornamented with silver lace wear- 
ing a tricorne, a knife at his side, and a Dampierre horn on his 
shoulder, advanced, and bowing to the duchess said, with English 
formality, 

“ If Madame the Duchess will confide the direction of the hunt to 
me, 1 promise before two o’clock to have Messieurs La BrMe and 
Du Tremblays at their wits’ end. Shall we give the summons to 
start?” 

“ Yes, vicomte.” 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


106 

Pontac turned with his trumpet to the middle of the cross-road, 
and inflating his cheeks as if his design was to level the trees of tiie 
forest, made the woods echo with the notes of the fanfare. 

“My compliment,'’ said the duchess, “your talent is extraor- 
dinary.’’ 

“ It is hereditary,” he said, with gravity; “ we have sounded the 
trumpet for three centuries.” 

And shaking his head with an air of superiority, the vicomte turned 
in the direction of his horse. 

In an instant the whole assemblage was in motion, the riders with 
their feet in the stirrups, the spectators following in carriages of 
every description. 

“ Monsieur Derblay, you are so familiar with the country,” said 
the duchess with asrnile to Philippe,” will you act as my guide?— we 
will take the lead — ” 

“ But, duchess, have you not Pontac, who knows better than 1 how 
to lead,” said Philippe. 

“ But 1 w T ant you,” replied the duchess gayly, “ unless you refuse, 
and 1 hardly think you capable of that.” 

The iron-master bowed and made no reply. Claire, a few paces 
off, had heard Athenais’ audacious proposal and trembled with an- 
ger. Tears of vexation sprung to her eyes, and involuntarily she 
grasped the arm of the baroness. 

“ You are of us, are you not?” said the duchess, turning to 
Claire. 

Claire bowed and answered calmly : 

“ No, I think I overrated my strength in proposing to follow the 
hunt on horseback. 1 will go w T itli the carriage — ” 

And she glanced with a mournful appeal toward Philippe as if to 
entreat him not to leave her. 

“ Are you vexed that 1 should run off with your husband?” asked 
the duchess. “ A little jealous, perhaps,” she added with a laugh. 

“No!” said Ch.ire, anxious to conceal her grief and helpless- 
ness. 

“Then to horse!” said Athenais, impatient to consummate her 
victory. 

With a heavy heart Claire saw her husband set oft. Obeying an 
irresistible impulse to call him back, she exclaimed: 

“ Philippe!” 

The iron-master turned quickly. 

“ Is anything the matter?” he asked. “ Are you indisposed? Do 
you "want anything?” 

If she had spoken the word her husband would have remained. 
But pride that was stronger still than love arrested it on her lips. 
She shook her head, and said, with drawn lips and a haughty 
gesture, 

“I want nothing. Go ! ” 

Phillipe rejoined the duchess. The latter raised her skirt, reveal- 
ing an ankle that looked slender and elegant in a gray buckskin boot 
and pointed out to M. Derblay that the strap of her spur was loose. 
The iron -master bent over and fastened the leather thong ornamented 
with steel chains to her instep, and attached the buckle at the heel. 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 107 

Provoking and bold the duchess leaned over and tapped his shoulder 
with the pommel of her whip as if to establish her empire. 

“ Ah! and what is the meaning of all this?” muttered the baron- 
ess. But as she turned to her friend she saw her so pale and 
trembling that she dared not press the question. 

“ Should you like to have me remain with you?” murmured a 
low voice in Claire’s ear, as she sat motionless and crushed, watch- 
ing the two riders disappear in the distance and feeling that they 
were carrying her happiness on behind them. She turned and saw 
the duke at her side. Suppressing an exclamation of anger, she 
said: 

“Leave me! I wish to be alone. ” 

And taking the arm of the baroness she led her toward the Mares, 
while the duke turned his horse’s head in the direction indicated by 
the horn. 

Octave and Suzanne were sauntering slowly by the water-side, 
indifferent to the hunt, their horses fastened to the same tree caress- 
ing each other’s neck, while the baron, seated apart, was breaking 
with a little hammer some specimens of minerals w r hich he had 
picked up on the road- side. 

Claire and the baroness were nearing the kiosk in silence. A pro- 
found stillness had succeeded to the movement and noise. A light 
breeze stirred the reeds through which sparkling dragon flies were 
wringing their uncertain flight. The baroness raised her eyes to her 
friend. 

Claire had recovered her self-possession. A slight trembling of the 
lips alone indicated that her nerves were still agitated. Fearing to 
be divined even by the baroness she dropped her eyes, and turned 
away her head, assuming an air of indifference as she scraped her 
foot along the sand. 

“ What does all this mean?” the baronbss broke forth, unable to 
contain herself longer. 1 4 1 arrive at your house expecting to find 
Biblical peace and quiet there, and everything is at cross purposes. 
Your husband gallops away with AthenaYs, and the duke comes 
humbly to offer you his company.” 

“It is as in the quadrilles,” said Claire laughing nervously, 
“ ladies change.” 

The baroness became grave and took her cousin’s hand in hers. 

“ Why do you try to deceive me?” she asked, “ do you think me 
stupid enough not to guess the truth? Claire you are not happy.” 

“I! and why should I not be? Have I not luxury, gayety, a 
family who are devoted to me, a husband who gives me my liberty. 
That, you know, was my dream. Could I help being happy?” 

“ Well, my poor dear, what you say was your dream is now your 
despair. Your husband allows you your liberty, but he resumes his 
own. Your pride would protest, but your distress betrays you. You 
are not happy and you cannot be, for you are jealous!” 

“1!” exclaimed Claire indignantly. And she burst into a laugh 
which ended in a sob. Tears sprung to her eyes, and hiding her 
crimsoned face on her friend’s shoulder she wept bitterly. 

After allowing her cousin time to disburden her grief and recover 
her composure, the baroness drew from her the secret of her rupture 
with Philippe, and all the frightful contrast between their outer and 


108 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


inner lives. Without, affection, cheerfulness and a show of gayety; 
within, coldness, silence, and solitude. They had a rdle to perform 
in public, and they had performed it well. Hoping that she might 
bring about a reconciliation between this pair whom deplorable folly 
had separated, she began by an attempt to probe Claire’s feelings 
to the bottom. 

“ When your husband was watching over you with such devotion, 
did it never occur to you to try and renew the ties that had been 
broken ? ’ * she asked. 

“ Yes,” replied Claire, reddening, “1 do not know what the 
change was that came over me, but 1 felt that 1 was no longer the 
same^ Was it gratitude for his kindness, or was it a recognition of 
his true character? I cannot tell, but when he was not by 1 began 
to look for him; when he was near me 1 did not look at him, yet 1 
saw him. He was so severe, so grave, that 1 dared not speak. If 
he had only encouraged me!” 

“ And he did not?' 

“ No, he is as proud as I, and more determined There is nothing 
to hope. We are separated forever!” 

“ And he takes it gayly! Our pretty little Duchess Moulinet — ” 

“Do not blame Philippe,” interrupted Claire. “It is she who 
impudently throws herself at his head. She pursues me still! 
After my lover, my husband! And what can 1 do? How can I de- 
fend myself? Have I the right even? He is not mine. ” 

“ Dame! frankly, he is a little more yours than hers.” 

“But let her beware!” said Claire violently. “1 have suffered 
enough through her, and if she drives me beyond the limits of 
patience I do not know what 1 will do, but something that will be 
the destruction of one or the other of us. ’ ’ 

“ There! my dear, calm yourself 1 have taken a hand in your 
game and will answer for our making an end of this delicious 
Athenais. She is a monopolizer you see, it runs in the family. Her 
father swept the stakes on his sugars. Her specialty is husbands, she 
wants them all. Mon Dieu! what fun it would be if she should take 
into her head to seduce the baron!” 

And she indicated De Prefont who, still planted in the same spot, 
was beguiling his long waiting by making a collection of small 
stones, and stuffing his pockets with them. 

“ The situation is grave, it is needless to disguise it,” continued 
the baroness. “ If Ihere could be an explanation it might end in a 
reconciliation, but in speaking there is the risk of a rebuff, and there 
is the end of it. I am convinced that your husband adores you, 
only he will not show it. Men of his sort love but once, and that 
forever. Monsieur Derblay has a head for battering down walls. 
You will not disarm a character like his but by surrendering to it.” 

“ Ah! I should not hesitate, there is nothing I would not do to 
win him. But if he should see in it only another caprice?” 

“You must wait for a favorable opportunity. If one does not 
occur, we will make it. But, for heaven’s sake, get rid of that look 
of woful despair. You will be preparing too much delight for our 
sweet friend. Remember, to the world you are happy, and assume 
the appearance while you wait for the reality.” 

Claire sighed. She, the invincible, who had been wont to find 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 109 

nothing an obstacle, now doubted lier power and mistrusted her 
resolution. 

“How serious we have been for the last half hour!” said the 
baroness. “ All this conjugal psychology has made my head quite 
heavy. Let us take a little gallop. And 1 should be pleased to 
ascertain what our little Duchess Moulinet is doing with your hus- 
band. Will you come?” 

“ No,” replied Claire, dejectedly, “ I am tired and will remain 
here, with my brother and Suzanne, who seem as little in the mood 
for a hunt as I am.” 

Octave and Suzanne were approaching them slowly and in silence. 
When they reached the spot where their horses were tied, Octave, 
as he unfastened the bridles, turned to Suzanne with : 

“ May I tell my sister?” 

Suzanne nodded assent. % 

“ Certainly, you know how she loves us and how well pleased 
she will be.” 

“ Then go with the baron and baroness while 1 remain with 
Claire.” 

And he presented her his two hands crossed. Suzanne placed her 
little foot on them and sprung lightly into her saddle. Then with a 
little pressure of her fingers, which told him what she dared not say, 
and a touch of her whip, she was off at a bound into the middle of 
the rond-point. 

“ Come, baron, to horse!” said Mme. de Prefont to her husband. 

“ I am at your service, ch$re amie,” he replied, tearing himself 
away from the contemplation of his minerals. “ It is curious — it 
would not surprise me if these rocks contained alum. 1 must call 
Monsieur Derblay’s attention to it. We might compete with the 
alum pits of Italy. You remember? near Civita Yecchia. I carried 
you to see them on our wedding-tour. It would be a good thing, 
so much sulphate of alumina is needed for the manufacture of 
paper — ” 

“ Yes, baron, yes,” said his wife, and with a sudden access of ten- 
derness, “ you are a perfect angel, and what is more, a savant 
angel. There! kiss my 1 hand.” 

“ With pleasure,” said the baron, tranquilly. The baroness 
waved her hand to Claire and Octave, and turning to Suzanne. 

“ All ready? Let us be of! then.” 

And they galloped away at full speed. 

Octave and Claire gazed after them in silence, the brother a little 
oppressed by the momentous confidence he had to impart, while the 
sister’s thoughts were still busied with what the baroness had been 
saying, and weighing with an agony of doubt the chances of suc- 
cess in their difficult enterprise. Her brother’s voice roused her from 
her abstraction. 

“ Claire,” he said, “ 1 have something to say to you — something 
serious. ” 

As his sister turned to him with a look of questioning surprise, 
“ Suzanne and 1 love each other,” he added in a lower tone. 

Claire’s sad face lighted up like a stormy sky pierced by a bright 
sunbeam. She drew her brother toward lier with both hands and 
made him sit down by her side, eager to know everything, seeing 


iio 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


already the opportunity which was to facilitate her approach to 
Philippe. She sat listening in silence while Octave poured into her 
ears the simple but already long romance of two hearts whose love 
had blossomed simply and naturally like lovely flowers beneath a 
bright sky. 

‘‘Your influence with Philippe is so great,” said the marquis, 

“ prevail on him to give me Suzanne. He has long known my ideas, A 
that 1 do not regard the advantages of birth, and that it is my aim 
to make a position for myself. In short, be eloquent, for my happi- 
ness is in your hands.” 

Claire became suddenly grave. This influence which her brother 
attributed to her, she did not possess. Never since that fatal night 
had she exchanged a single serious word with Philippe. They met 
only at meals, and in presence of servants, had but little to say and 
on commonplace topics. And she was abruptly, without prepara- 
tion or encouragement, to enter upon a serious question. But her 
natural confidence returned to her; she determined to try and felt a 
presentiment of victory. 

Uneasy at Claire’s silence, and like all lovers, quicK to apprehend 
a difficulty, 

“ You do not decline to plead my cause?” he asked. 

“ No, surely not,” replied the young wife with a valiant smile, 

“ I shall plead it as though it were my very own.” 

“Thank you! oh, thank you!” said Octave, kissing his sister 
affectionately. 

“ That is my emolument,” she said, with a gayety to which she 
had been quite a stranger for a year past. “ You have confidence 
in me, evidently you pay in advance. Go and rejoin her, now that 
you have confessed your crime. 1 do not mind being alone as you 
know, and then 1 have to reflect upon what you have told me.” 

Octave was already on the way to his horse, and sprung into the 
saddle. Sending a parting kiss to Claire, he galloped off with the 
impetuosity of a man who knows the woman he loves is at the end 
of the road. 


CHAPTER XV. 

Left alone, Claire became oblivious to everything around her. 
A far off murmur accompanied by the fanfare of Beenaller and a 
sound of carriage wheels reached her from the forest, but she was 
indifferent to all that was not Philippe. She busied herself with 
reconstituting her life as it should have been, going over the past 
and counting the days of happiness that had been lost to her. At 
her present distance from that fatal epoch of her life she could 
hardly comprehend the sentiments that had actuated her, her delir- 
ium of pride had grown to be a thing inexplicable. Her eagerness 
to be married before the duke at any cost appeared to her now so 
paltry that she blushed at the thought of it. Was it such a vulgar 
motiye as this that had led her to compromise her existence? Out- 
raged, however, though Philippe had been, he could not continue 
inexorable. Yet there rose before her a vision of his severe and 
haughty profile; she still heard the sound of his voice when he said: 
“ You will one day learn the truth, and will know that you have 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 1L1 

been more unjust even than cruel ; you might then fall on your 
knees, and I would have for you no word of pity.” 

But had not these terrible words been spoken in anger? Would he 
hold to them without relenting? Certainly he had once loved her, 
and on that night would have given his life for a kind look or a 
word of hope. In the eight months that had elapsed, had this love 
been entirely destroyed by the cruel wound which her hand had 
made? 

“ When one has deeply loved,” she said aloud, as if addressing 
Hie question which agitated her mind to the woods, to the winds, to 
space, to the whole still mysterious nature by which she was sur- 
rounded, “ when one has deeply loved, does one forget?” 

“ When one had deeply loved,” said a voice which seemed to 
reach her from above, “ one does not forget.” 

Claire rose quickly, and looking up, saw the duke, who had en- 
tered the kiosk a moment before, leaning his arm on the balustrade 
and looking at her smilingly. 

“ Confess that 1 arrived just in time to answer your question,” he 
said gayly; “ was it of me you were thinking?” 

Claire looked at him out of half closed eyes. 

“ ]\Ia foi, no!” she replied. 

“ So much the worse!” 

“ And you? why are you here?” 

The duke descended six steps and approached her. 

“ Because of you,” he said, bowing* 

“ With what purpose?” 

“ For the purpose of talking frankly with you. You gave me a 
sad welcome awhile ago when I offered you my company ; 1 fancied 
1 might perhaps find you more sociable, and here 1 am. Are you in 
a mood to talk to me?” 

“ Ma foi, my dear duke, I think we have nothing to say to each 
other.” 

“ Are you certain? 1 have discovered, with regret, that you have 
learned to dissemble. You have trouble and you conceal it.” 

“ And 1 have discovered that you are very perceptibly declining 
in intellect. You revert incessantly to the same idea with a little 
whining tone which is quite piteous. Reassure your too sensitive 
heart. 1 have no trouble, and I am not disposed to seek it in order 
to gratify you. ’ ’ 

“ Be it so,” said the duke, good-humoredly. “ I shall be glad to 
believe that I was deceived. The idea which I had formed appeared 
to me just, but since you have so well expressed yourself to that 
effect I must believe tiiat I have lost my clearness of vision. This 
morning I thought you nervous and agitated. You had no interest 
in the hunt, but passed your whole time watching your husband.” 

“Well?” said Claire, repressing a start. 

“ Well,” continued the duke, “ the strange part of it is that Mon- 
sieur Derblay has no appearance of being concerned about you at 
all. He is at the command of tlie duchess, and acts as her cavalier, 
while you, instead of regarding this gallant service with satisfaction, 
flash lightning glances at them both.” 

“ From wilich you conclude?” 

“ That the good understanding wfliich you would pretend exists 


112 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


between you is not real; that he does not value the treasure which 
chance or rather my misfortune bestowed on him; and then a thou- 
sand circumstances linked themselves together in my mind. I recalled 
your wedding-day, interpreted your sadness, analyzed your anger, 
and having summoned up the pros and cons, arrived at the conclu- 
sion that, despite your profession, you are less happy than you should 
be.” 

The attack was direct and audacious. Instead of retreating, 
Claire advanced to meet the enemy. 

“And you, generous and compassionate soul, have deemed this 
the fitting moment to offer me consolation.” 

The duke was practiced in this sort of warfare, and he saw that 
the battle would be lost if he accepted the gauntlet Claire had 
thrown down. lie must seem to be led on by a deep and serious 
sentiment. Quitting his bantering tone : 

“You are unjust to me, (Mire,” he said, sadly, “believe me 
that 1 have done all in my power to forget you. When I returned 
here 1 thought 1 loved you no longer, that I might see you without 
danger. They told me you were happy and I rejoiced. Fool that 1 
was! After such trials and disappointments I believed my heart 
dead. To my sorrow 1 have felt it revive, and the old memories re- 
turn to me in an instant. 1 saw you, alas! anxious and sad despite 
all the efforts you made to dissemble your anxiety and sadness! 
You might have deceived another, but for many years your face 
lias hid nothing from me. Had 1 seen you happy, I would have 
been content to worship you at a distance, and not a word from me 
should have troubled your peace. But you suffered, and 1 was no 
longer master of myself. A power stronger than my will drew me 
toward you, and I knew that for me there was but one woman in all 
the world. * ’ 

Claire had listened in silent astonishment to these passionate 
words. Hot a fiber of her heart stirred. Could this be the man 
whom she had loved to the verge of madness? She saw in him only 
one of these adroit actors who unsettle the minds and agitate the 
nerves of ill-balanced women. Not for an instant did she think him 
sincere ; she saw in his pursuit of her only a passing caprice. 

“ Shall 1 tell you that you do not lack impertinence?” she said. 

' * Having been called to choose between a woman whom you pro- 
fessed to love and a fortune that tehipted you, you did not hesitate 
— you closed your heart and opened youi cash box. Now that you 
have the money, you would not object, perhaps, to have the woman 
also, and you make advances to me ! Ah ! my dear duke, you are 
too ambitious. You cannot have everything.” 

The duke shook his head sadly. “ Yop are severe! I knew you 
had not yet forgiven me. ’ ’ 

Claire started, and replied with eyes sparkling with indignation, 

“ISot forgiven you! If I felt for you any sentiment whatever, it 
must be gratitude; for if I am the wife of Monsieur Derblay, who is 
as useful as you are incapable, as devoted as you are selfish, as gen- 
erous as you are base, who has all the virtues which you do not 
possess, and none of the defects which you do, is it not to you that 
I owe it?” 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 113 

The duke bit his lips. Every word had been like a blow struck 
full in his face. 

“Honsieur Derblay is no doubt perfect; but there is one little 
idiosyncrasy which renders his perfection worthless — to you, at 
least. He does not love you ! He has been married to you but a 
few months. If he cared for you as you deserve he would be at 
your side, and where is he? With the duchess.” 

“Your wife!” exclaimed Claire with violence. Then recovering 
herself with an effort. “ Why should it disturb me if it does not 
you?” 

“ Me? Oh! I am not jealous,” said the duke in a careless tone; 
“ and then 1 know the duchess, she is an admirable doll baby with 
her lace and jewels; but under it there is neither head nor heart. 
Where could passion find a lodgment? But your husband — ’* 

He drew near and spoke more slowly, as if fearing tnat his words 
in passing through the air would'lose some portion of their acrid 
venom. 

“ You saw him at her side a moment ago — the ingrate who cannot 
understand his own good fortune, who recklessly risks the loss of it. 
Leave him to the duchess. They are worthy of each other. And 
sutler me to remain by you, who appreciate you, who understand 
you, who love you!” 

Claire retreated a step. Then with oppression at her heart and 
vainly striving to appear unmoved : 

‘ ‘ What you have said 1 can afford to laugh at. ’ ’ 

Yes, like Figaro, that you may not weep,” replied De Bligny, 
“ for it is profoundly sad, in fact. You are bound to a man who must 
always remain a stranger to you. Every thing in you revolts and 
protests against it. He is plebeian, you patrician ; he has, I am sure, 
principles of equality, and you *are an aristocrat to the ends of your 
fingers. He is without polish, and it shocks you, you are proud, 
and it offends him. Y our race and his are natural enemies. His 
ancestors gayly cut off the heads of yours. Every thing in you in- 
clines you to hale him, and nothing disposes you to love him.” 

Claire raised her head superbly. “ Nevertheless, I love him, you 
know it well.” 

“ You fancy you love him,” he answered, in a gentle tone, as if 
trying to prevail on a child to listen to reason, “ because you are 
jealous. But there are jealousies of various sorts — some spring from 
love, some from pride. I would venture to affirm that you suffer 
from the latter. Your husband neglects you, and little though you 
care for him, it irritates you. It is quite natural. All women are 
so; the crisis you are passing through, ma foi! I have it all at my 
finger’s’ ends.” 

Claire listened to the duke in silent indignation and disgust. He 
mistook for interest what was in truth stupefaction; and eager to 
follow up the work which he conceived himself to have begun: 

“ There are four phases in this crisis, like the four changes of the 
moon. At this moment you are in the first, that of resistance. 
Your husband is escaping you, and you are eagerly trying to recon- 
quer him, that is your fixed idea. Soon you discover that your 
efforts are fruitless, and you enter the second phase, that of disen- 
chantment. Every thing is crumbling; your illusions are fled, your 


114 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


peace destroyed, and profoundly dejected you turn toward heaven, 
the refuge of the despairing. But as your husband pursues his 
course, your faith changes to bitterness. He is too gay, and you 
are too sad. After all you are but twenty-two, and have a right to 
love; one cannot be always solitary and alone. A secret irritation 
possesses you, and you enter the'third phase, that of resentment. 
A veil has been torn from your eyes, and you see your husband as 
he is— awkward, vulgar, doltish. You are astonished that you re- 
gretted him for an instant. The end of the crisis is near. With a 
blush you put your pretty foot in the phase of consolation. Look 
up! the world is brilliant, rose-colored, gay. To forget is easy: a 
step more, and it is done. You hesitate? Let me offer you my 
hand to do the honors of this phase for which 1 am waiting with a 
little hope and much love.” 

The duke tried to take her hand. She repulsed him with vio- 
lence, and turned upon him frowningly. 

“ Your calculations are ingenious,” she said, “ and argue a long 
study of wives, i only regret that you have so conscientiously 
studied the silly and depraved, overlooking those who are honest. 
I am proud to inform you that there are unhappy wives who refuse 
to avenge themselves, who find consolation enough in their own self- 
respect, and in meriting the esteem of others. What you call your 
love is an infamous persecution. What manner of man are you to 
incur my hatred after meriting my contempt?” 

As she stood before him, trembling and indignant, a tress of 
golden hair had become detached and floated in a bright wave over 
her shoulder. Her bosom heaved under her dark-blue habit, and 
she brandished the riding-whip which she held in her hand as if it 
had been a weapon. De Bligny turned pale. He approached her, so 
close that she felt his hot breath on her face. 

” Take care!” she said, drawing back. “ A step nearer and I 
will treat you as the last of cowards and lash your face. ’ ’ 

She drew back and raised her whip prepared to strike. “ Am 1, 

, then, so publicly abandoned that 1 can be outraged by you with im- 
punity? Had I a man near me to undertake my defense you would 
not venture to attack me, but alone as I am, anything is permissi- 
ble! You shall see that 1 can defend myself.” 

The duke recovered his self-command and bowed. 

“ You will change. The future is mine. I will be patient.” 

His cold audacity exasperated Claire. She looked into the duke’s 
face wildly, and in broken phrases, such was the violence of her 
emotion, said: 

‘‘Know that were 1 the most wretched of women, and were I 
capable of becoming the most infamous, such is the aversion and 
disgust which you inspire that 1 would choose the first comer, a 
stranger, no matter whom, sooner than you.” 

The duke received this outburst of fury coolly, and with the same 
assured smile which had the faculty of driving Claire beside her- 
self, said: 

‘‘We shall see.” 

Claire did not give herself the trouble to reply. She moved away 
in the direction of the cross-road from which a moving curtain of 
aspens and alders separated her, to the spot where Moulinet’s valets 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 115 

♦ 

were preparing a repast for the hunters. In the bottom of her heart 
she was frightened at the duke’s aggressiveness. She had taken 
note of his flaming eyes, his trembling hands, his pallid face. The 
contest from which she had just escaped filled her with horror, she 
had lost all confidence in this noble lord whom she had so long wor- 
shiped as a divinity, and with deep sadness of heart sought for refuge 
and protection with the lackeys. 

“ Here they come!’’ exclaimed the chief steward. 

Carriages were rolling through the forest and over the green turf 
in a noisy avalanche with horsemen at their side. They were still 
five hundred metres off, but there was an animated sound of voices 
which Claire felt to be in strange contrast with her own gloom. She 
felt angry that all nature was rejoicing while her own heart was so 
sad. 

A carriage entering the rond- point diverted her from her gloomy 
reflections. The marchioness was buried in it as in her great arm- 
chair, with a lace shawl over her shoulders. Claire hurried to seek 
her protection and felt the air purer in her mother’s presence. Mine, 
de Beaulieu had only shaken off her customary inertia at the last 
moment, and had her grand calash brought out that she might see 
her daughter ride. 

“What!” she said, “you here, and all alone. Where is your 
husband? And Sophie?” 

“ The baroness left me a short while ago, and I insisted upon 
Philippe’s joining the hunt. It is not necessary that a husband 
should be fastened to his wife’s side in public.” 

“ You are happy enough to allow yourself the luxury of conceal- 
ing your happiness,” said Mme. de Beaulieu. “Ah! Philippe is 
the pearl of sons-in-law.” 

The arrival of the horsemen at full speed interrupted the mar- 
chioness, and allowed Claire an opportunity to conceal the embar- 
rassment occasioned by her mother’s eulogiums. Le BrMe and Du 
Tremblays, one very red and the other very white, their horses cov- 
ered with foam, were soon surrounded and overwhelmed with con- 
gratulations on the manner in which they had sustained the chase. 

Claire at a glance saw Philippe returning with Suzanne and the 
baroness. Sophie hurried forward and stopped near her long enough 
to whisper in her ear w T ords which brought roses to the young wife’s 
pale cheeks. 

“ He had left Athenai's when we arrived. He turned her straight 
over to that imbecile of a Pontac, whose only talent is making a din 
with a hunting-horn. Whal an ornament to society 1” 

And she began to laugh, squinting at Athenai's, who Was ap- 
proaching, quite deafened by her cavalier’s horn, after the uninten- 
tionally impertinent manner of near-sighted people. 

Seeing Claire, Athenai's started her horse into a gallop, and with 
an ironical gesture to the duke, who stood at a short distance from 
Mme. de Beaulieu’s carriage. 

“So here you are, duke, and Madame Derblay also! It was 
amiable' of you to remain with your cousin,” with a diabolical grin 
in the direction of Philippe. 

The iron master advanced resolutely, almost threateningly. The 


116 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


W 

duke bowed. “ 1 have not been so fortunate as to keep my cousin 
company. When 1 arrived here my aunt had preceded me.” 

“ Then, my dear, your horse must be worthless, and 1 advise you 
to exchange it,” resumed the duchess. 

Angry at being foiled in her designs she struck her mare vio- 
lently on the ear with her whip, making the animal start and plunge. 
The duke came forward quietly, seized the mare’s bridle, and assist- 
ed Athenai's to dismount. 

“ Nothing is in more wretched taste than to make your hoise rear 
in that manner, my dear. Not to mention that you are but a tolera- 
ble rider, and might be unhorsed, which would be a pity — such 
wavs have a strong flavor of the shop.” 

And leaving the duchess livid with rage he went to rejoin his 
friends, and drink toasts to the success of the day. 

Claire, cold and trembling, took her seat in the carriage by her 
mother, and begged to be taken back to Pont-Avesnes. 

The reply made by the duke to Athenai’s which had so seasonably 
prevented an intervention on the part of Philippe seemed to involve 
her in a sort of complicity with him. She would gladly have told 
all, preferring Philippe’s censure or anger to this odious connivance 
with the man who had insulted her. But she dared not speak ; she 
saw herself compelled to sustain this falsehood, driven to practice 
deception always and everywhere, and to preserve a smiling face 
with despair at her heart. 

She glanced timidly at Philippe as he rode by the side of Bache- 
lin’s cabriolet. His face was composed and his voice, as he talked 
with the old notary, betrayed no emotion. She began to think she 
must have been deceived when she fancied she saw his eyes flash 
with anger as he advanced toward the duke. She hoped he was 
jealous. At the risk of her life, she would gladly have seen his 
hand raised threateningly toward her,' as on that terrible night. She 
promised herself to speak to him the next day on behalf of her 
brother, and then she would penetrate her husband’s m 3 r steriously 
hidden thoughts. This resolution taken, she made an effort to be 
gay, to drive the clouds from her brow, and like the actor who ap- 
pears on the stage to perform his role, assumed a mask of smiles. 

Far off in the woods a faint murmur from the joyous company 
could still be heard, Pontac’s horn waking echoes through the forest 
as it sounded the death of the stag, incarnate in the persons of La 
Br6de and Du Tremblays. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

Philippe was at work in his great severe cabinet, glancing rapid- 
ly over the.papers which covered his table, affixing his signature with 
a dash of his pen to the document examined and passing rapidly to 
another. It was ten o’clock. The sun’s burning rays fell direct 
upon the facade of the chateau; a single indiscreet ray shining on 
the iron-master’s brow, interrupted his task. He rose, and walking 
to the window, looked around on the garden. 

Beneath the shelter of a tent by the water’s side, Suzanne in a 
white dress sat dreamily fishing, with her line agitated by the con- 
tortions of a fish that had seized the bait, making shining circles in 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 11 ? 

the water. She sat there motionless, her face beaming, absorbed in 
reverie. 

Philippe smiled. He opened the window softly. 

“ Suzanne,” he said, “ do you know that a fish has bitten?” 

The girl started and turned toward her brother with a pretty 
pout. 

“Oh! Philippe, you frightened me.” 

“ Draw in your line,” said the iron master. “ A perch has been 
writhing there for ten minutes. We should not give needless pain 
to dumb creatures.” 

Suzanne drew in her line, making a silvery flash, and with her 
gloved hand unhooked and let the fish drop in a net pocket which 
lay on the grass. 

“ 1 have twelve,” she said proudly, showing her brother the well- 
filled net. 

“ That will make a frying,” he laughed. “ It is of their own free 
will that they are caught in the snare.” 

He looked at his little sister an instant as she gravely pierced a red 
worm with her hook. She was so fair and rosy in the clear blue 
sky, under the penumbra of the tent, that he felt a sudden movement 
of tenderness toward her. He sighed, and dropping the blind to 
shut out the sun, was about resuming his seat when a gentle tap at 
his door made him pause. 

“ Come in,” he said indifferently. 

The door opened, and Claire, blushing and agitated, but resolute, 
stood on the threshold. 

“ Shall 1 disturb you?” she asked, as she drew nearer, while 
Philippe, much surprised at the unexpected inquiry, courteously ad- 
vanced a chair. 

“ Not at all,’ he replied simply, and leaning against the mantel 
he waited. 

Claire seated herself and glanced around her. This apartment, 
sacred to Philippe, was one which she never entered. Its cold 
gravity, a reflection of the character of its occupant, pleased her. 
Her heart beat fast and there was a tight pressure about her temples. 

Philippe first broke the silence. 

“ You have something to say to me?” 

Claire turned her eyes on her husband, and with a tinge of mel- 
ancholy in her voice : 

‘ ‘ Living apart as we do,” she said, “I must have a request to 
make to risk disturbing you.” 

Philippe made a gesture of polite disavowal, and, as if to encour- 
age her, said : 

“ 1 am listening.” 

The young wife bowed her bead as if striving to collect her 
thoughts. 

“ What 1 have to say is very important,” she said trembling, and 
with a choking dryness at her throat, “ and concerns you as well as 
me.” 

‘‘What is it?” 

Claire raised her eyes to her husband with a look so full of en 
treaty that he could nave fallen at her feel. He stood, uowever, 
quietly waiting. 


118 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


“ First, j 7 ou feel an interest in Octave, do } r ou not?” 

“ 1 think 3 7 our brother has had no cause to doubt it hitherto?” he 
replied. 

Claire’s brow contracted a little at this equivocal reply. 

“ And if an occasion should arise to prove it? 

“ It is likely that 1 should avail myself of it.” 

“ Well,” she went on, “ the occasion has arisen. Do you wish 
me to tell you what it is? It is a serious one — it concerns not my 
brother only—” 

“ Is all this circumlocution necessary?” interrupted the iron- 
master. “ Does your request seem to you a very difficult one to ob- 
tain?” 

Claire fixed her eyes on her husband’s face as if anxious that not 
a movement of his features should escape her. 

“ Judge for yourself. Octave loves your sister and has desired 
me to ask you for her. ” 

Philippe’s countenance darkened, and a half- suppressed exclama- 
tion escaped him. He walked to the window, and raising the blind 
stood before it in silence. Suzanne, unconscious of what was pass- 
ing, sat dreaming still with her line touching the surface of the 
sparkling water. 

“ You do not answer,” said Claire, following him to the window, 
where he stood grave and thougntful. 

Philippe turned, and speaking slovly, as if the words pained 
him : 

4 ‘ I am sorry for your brother’s sake, but this marriage is impossi- 
ble.” 

“ You refuse?” said Claire in an agony. 

“ 1 refuse,” repeated the iron-master coldly. 

“ Why?” 

“ Because there is already one person in my family made unhappy 
by yours. 1 think that enough. ” 

“But have a care,” said Claire quickly, ‘‘lest you make Su- 
zanne’s unhappiness more sure by refusing her to my brother.” 

“ Why?” said the iron-master, with sudden animation. 

“ Because she loves him.” 

“ She loves him. That is a calamity in truth. But it will make 
no change in my decision. If, the day before I married you, some 
one had hindered me even at the risk of breaking my heart, he 
would have done me great service. The cruel experience which 1 
have passed through shall at least not have been in vain. If my 
sister must weep she shall be free to weep, and she shall not have 
before her e 3 *es a future hopelessly sacrificed.” 

The blow was so terrible that Claire could no longer contain her- 
self. 

” It is revenge that you are seeking,” she said with violence. 

“ Revenge!” said the iron master disdainfully. “ Do you think I 
would accept one? It is a precaution that I take. ” 

Claire sank into a chair. There was so much of resolution and 
disdain in her husband’s words that she abandoned the contest, and 
thought only of attempting to move him by entreaty. 

“ Do not make me responsible for their misfortune, 1 implore you. 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


119 


1 am overwhelmed already. What can 1 do to soften you? 1 have 
wronged you, 1 admit — 

Philippe laughed bitterly. “ You have wronged me — you deign 
to acknowledge it? It is a great concession that you make!” 

Claire did not heed her husband’s irony. She determined to per- 
severe in spite of rebuffs. 

“ Yes, 1 have wronged you, but you have made me bitterly expi- 
ate it.” 

”1?” interrupted Philippe. 44 And how? Have 1 uttered a word 
of reproach — a word that could wound you? Have I been wanting 
in thoughtfulness and attention?” 

” No, but how far rather w r ould 1 have had your anger than you 
disdainful indifference. Everybody is vaunting my happiness; 1 am 
courted and flattered. 1 return here and where is it? 1 find only, 
solitude, abandonment, and sadness.” 

“ Has it depended on me,” he said, “ that it should be different? 
You chose your life. Is it not what you made it?” 

44 Yes, it is true,” said Claire in broken accents. 4 ‘ But I might 
have counted at least on repose, and I have not found that.” She 
rose agitated and trembling. 44 This woman pursues me with her 
hate even here, and you suffer it. You lend yourself to her maneu- 
vers. You will not even, for the sake of pity, spare me her insult- 
ing bravadoes. My patience is at an end. 1 will not suffer it.” 

44 You will not suffer it?” 

“No!” 

44 You forget that it is I alone who have the right to say, 4 1 
will.’ ” 

All the blood rushed to Claire’s face, and in a passion of anger 
and jealousy : 

44 Beware!” she said, 44 do not drive me to extremity. I might 
endure your indifference, but an insulting public abandonment I 
will not submit to it. ’ ’ 

4 ‘ How like your old self!” he said. 44 You are still the same- 
anxious as always for the opinion of others. Public opinion is still 
your great and chief concern. It was to appear well in the eyes of 
the world that you sacrificed yourself and me. And now, infuriated 
at the thought of provoking criticism, you forget yourself so far as 
to threaten me.” 

44 No, I do not threaten,” said Claire, the tears forcing their way 
into her eyes; 44 1 entreat. Have pity on me, Philippe. Be gener- 
ous. Will you never weary of striking me to the heart? You have 
had revenge enough, be indulgent. If you will not alter the terms 
on which we live, at least deliver me from the duchess — protect me 
from the duke.” 

She sunk her voice as if ashamed that the last words should pass 
her lips. 

44 What is it you complain of?” said the iron-master. 44 1 endure 
them— both of them; they are your relatives. What would the 
world say, this world to whose opinion you subordinate everything, 
if without any cause w T e should close our doors upon them? Life is 
not to be modified at the caprice of a spoiled child. Thrown both 
of us by yourself outside the beaten track, w r e can only walk straight 
on, since we have not the right to turn back.” 


120 * THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 

“ Then,” said Claire, “ 1 have nothing to expect of you— nothing 
to hope?” 

“ Nothing,” said Philippe coldly; “ and remember it is you who 
have willed it.” 

Claire looked up at her husband. A change had passed over the 
features of (he iron-master. His eyes were deep-sunken and his face 
had become very pale, but his voice was firm. For an instant she 
thought of throwing herself at his feet, of opening her heart to him, 
of confessing that she loved him. She moved a step toward him 
with her arms extended vaguely, but a last remnant of pride arrested 
her, and with a sigh she stopped and stood motionless. Philippe 
came toward her. 

“ 1 am compelled to go to the factor} r ,” he said, calm as if nothing 
had passed between him and the wife whom he adored. “ You will 
excuse me, will you not?” 

“ What shall 1 say to my brother?” she asked timidly. 

“ That 1 count upon his honor to say nothing of my refusal to 
Suzanne. 1 will arrange in the course of a week to send her away 
for a time.” 

And passing through the darkened cabinet, with an indifferent in- 
clination of his head, he went out. 

The young wife remained alone for some moments, abandoning 
herself without restraint to her grief, and measuring the full extent 
of her misfortune. It was then irrevocable. It was in vain that 
she had let Philippe see the bleeding wound in her heart; he had for 
her only a cold indifferent glance She existed for him no longer. 
He had said it and he kept his word. He refused his pardon for 
her passing aberration. Ho repulsed her when she would approach 
him. She accused herself of having destroyed the future of her 
brother. It was through mistrust of the blood of the Beaulieus whose 
fatal violence he had proved, that he refusd Suzanne to Octave, and 
how was she to acquaint him with the wretched truth? 

Suzanne’s voice in the next room made her start up as suddenly 
as a deer that hears the barking of the hounds. She must not be sur- 
prised in her husband’s cabinet in tears, and she hurried to her own 
chamber, and shut herself in. About two o’clock, when she had 
seen Suzanne disappear in the trees of the park, she set out on foot 
for Beaulieu. 

The marquis, impatient to learn the result of the negotiation 
which his sister had undertaken, and satisfied that she would not 
leave him long in suspense, was walking on the terrace. He saw 
her approaching from a distance through the straight road leading 
to the chateau, walking slowly, with her head bent downward and 
forgetting to shade herself from the rays of the sun. Instead of the 
brisk movement of a bearer of good tidings, her attitude was languid 
and drooping. He advanced to meet her and they exchanged glances, 
the brother’s anxious and troubled, the sister’s gloomy and despond- 
ent. 

“MonDieu! what has happened?’ murmured Octave, seizing 
Claire’s arm and leading her to a rond point surrounded with benches 
and commanding a beautiful prospect. A scent of flowering lindens 
pervading the atmosphere enervated Claire still further and she fixed 
her eyes, full of tears, tremblingly on her brother. 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


121 


Tell me, Claire, I beg, what is the matter?” said the marquis. 
“ Speak, anything is better than your silence.” 

In compassion for his anxiety, she made an effort over herself. 

‘‘I have a sad reply for you, my dear brother,” she said, “a 
marriage between Suzanne and you is impossible. ’ ’ 

‘‘Impossible! And why?” 

Claire shook her head gloomily. 

“ Philippe refuses.” 

“ What reason does he give?” 

Claire was silent from extreme embarrassment. Could she tell 
her brother the secret of her dreary existence? What pretext could 
she invent that might seem to justify Philippe’s refusal? She must 
answer, however, and without seeming to hesitate, Octave was look- 
ing at her, try ing to read the truth in her face in her least movement. 

“ There was no reason. He refused to give one.” 

“ No reason, no explanation?” said the marquis, in astonishment. 
“ Philippe, whom 1 have loved so, does not hesitate to cause me 
such a grief !” 

He sunk on a bench, much agitated, and concentrated his wdiole 
thoughts on the effort to guess this reason which Philippe would 
not give. Suddenly alight seemed to flash upon him. Money! it 
is a question of money. He was without fortune or position — that 
was surely Philippe’s reason for refusing Suzanne to him. He rose 
quickly, took a few steps, and began talking to himself as if in reply 
to his own thought. 

“ Without position, it is true, but I will make one. Without 
fortune, but Philippe knows that may be won. 1 will do as he has 
done—” 

‘‘ Without fortune! you?” Claire repeated. 

Confused and embarrassed, Octave made an attempt to change 
the subject. Claire laid her hand on his shoulder, and looking- 
straight in his eyes, said earnestly: 

” What do you mean?” 

‘‘ I imprudently spoke words which it was not meant for you to 
hear. You were ignorant of the loss of our suit and were never to 
have learned it. 1 have betrayed a secret that I had promised to 
keep.” 

But Claire had ceased to listen. She was thinking. The loss of 
the suit meant their ruin. If her brother was without fortune she was 
without dowry. A horrible suspicion crossed her mind. “ When 
I married?” she said. 

‘‘ The disaster was accomplished.” 

“ And my liuband — Philippe — did he know it?” 

“ He knew it, and forbade us to tell you. He showed an admir- 
able delicacy and generosity.” 

Claire wrung her hands. “ He did that! And 1! oh! wretch that 
1 am!” 

There rose before her eyes a vision of the lofty chamber where on 
the tapestry hangings warriors were smiling in silence to the god- 
desses with the fire burning in the vast chimney-place on which she 
leaned shudderingly. And Philippe, pale and trembling almost at 
her feel, then raising his head proudly, when she said: “ Take my 
fortune, let it be the ransom of my liberty.” 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


122 

Her fortune! How disdainful ty he had smiled, she now knew 
why, and in her despair, the bitter humiliating truth rose to her lips. 
She must speak, she must accuse herself ! 

“ Oh! 1 lied to you,” she stammered, “ when 1 said 1 did not 
know why he refused his sister to you. It was because of me!” 

And with a sudden impulse she made to her brother her sad con- 
fession, dwelling on the enormity of her conduct. “ And he!” she 
went on, “ so proud, disinterested and good, for in his anger he 
spared me. He might have crushed me with a word, and he would 
not. And 1 — 1 heard him entreat, 1 saw him weep, and 1 remained 
immovable. 1 did not know what this heart contained of sincere, 
deep love!” 

Transfigured by grief, radiant with passion: 

“ If you had not spoken, my existence would have been ruined, 
and it "was chance that made you tell me!” She threw her arms 
around her brother, and embraced him in a tempest of gratitude, 
while words flowed from her lips like a torrent from a long pent up 
stream. 

“ Claire, 1 beg you, calm yourself!” said Octave. 

“ Have no fear, all is saved,” she resumed, in a state of exulta- 
tion. ‘‘I will repair the harm 1 have done, you shall be happy. 
Oh! 1 will fall on my knees, nothing will be too hard for 
me. I was awkward this morning, I lost my self-command — 1 love 
him so!” 

Her face clouded over as a recollection of the duchess returned to 
her. 

“ They shall not taKe him from me! He must return to me or 1 
shall die!” 

“ Claire!” exclaimed the marquis. But with extreme mobility, 
she had passed from bitterness to joy. 

” Don’t be afraid,” she said, laughing gayly. “ To-morrow w T e 
are to receive, it is my fete day. 1 will be beautiful, and 1 will 
triumph, 1 am certain. 1 shall see him again at my side, trusting 
and tender.” 

Her nerves suddenly relaxed; she staggered and sunk into the 
arms of Octave, who led her to a bank of turf. She sobbed con- 
vulsively while Octave poured into her ears words of sympathy and 
consolation. 

When she recovered her composure she satin silence by the side of 
the marquis, gazing out at the fresh quiet valley with the river flow 
ing through it. The park with its massive clumps of trees spread out 
to the foot of the hill dominated by the sharp turrets of the chateau. 
From the tall chimneys of the manufactory rose a dense trail of 
smoke against the sky, and the weather cock of the little church 
shone in the oblique rays of the setting sun. 

It was in t his peaceful corner that Claire dreamed of passing her 
life. She recalled how from that same spot she had once viewed 
the scene in anger and disdain. Now it represented Paradise to her. 
Philippe was there. 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


123 


CHAPTER XVII. 

Saint Claire’s day fell this year on a Sunday, and Saint Su- 
zanne’s, by a happy coincidence, the day before. Philippe, who al- 
ways yielded to the necessities of his position, had not felt it possible 
to dispense with the celebration of this double anniversary. He had 
not received since his marriage. The spring was so far advanced 
before Claire had entirely recovered from her illness that there was 
pretext enough to justify in the eyes of the most suspicious the clos- 
ing of his house. The invitations had been out for ten days when 
the wife’s attempt at reconciliation seemed sharply to define the sad 
condition of affairs as chronic. It was with a heart filled with 
anguish, and a feeling of dissatisfaction with the world and himself, 
that the iron master prepared to do the honors of Pont-Avesnes gayly. 

Claire had siiut herself up all the morning with the baroness, pre- 
paring for the event by reclining in a subdued light that she might 
look fresh. She bestowed as much attention upon her toilet as if 
she had been a courtesan bent upon making the conquest of a nabob. 
The dress she chose was white, trimmed with Valenciennes, and 
ornamented with natural roses. The corsage, half high in the back, 
and decollete in front, revealed the whiteness of her neck, height- 
ened by the bright garland of roses, which starting at the shoulder, 
descended to the edge of the skirt, encircling her in a fragrant coil. 
Her beautiful golden hair was massed high on her head boldly dis- 
covering the snowy nape of her neck, its only ornament a piquet 
de roses du Boi. She was so beautiful that Brigitte and Suzanne 
clapped their hands in admiration ; and the last glance that Claire 
bestowed upon her mirror, was one of gratitude, and she shivered a 
little, for the time had come to make her appearance below. 

In the Louis-Fourteenth salon, Philippe, in a black suit and white 
cravat, and the baron with the sleeve of his jacket rolled up, and his 
hands stained yellow, were talking together in the bright light of 
the lusters. The baroness, entering with Claire, uttered an exclama- 
tion of despair: 

“ Ah! mon ami, where do you come from in such a condition as 
this at such a time? And what hands!” 

“ Pardon me, chere amie,” said the baron, reddening like a school- 
boy caught in mischief, “ I was rather late leaving the laboratory, 
and I accidentally upset a bath of iodine and stained my hands a 
little. ’ ’ 

" A little!” exclaimed the baroness, "you are not fit to be seen; 
you look like a photographer. Don’t come near me!” she exclaimed 
drawing back, "go dress yourself, quick! You have no time to 
lose.” 

The baron, happy at being let off so easily, disappeared like a 
sylph. 

Philippe looked at Claire as she came forward in the splendor of 
her beauty, without a trace of anxiety on her face, and admired the 
spirit and resolution with which she performed her role. With a 
smile that made his young wife turn pale with joy, he advanced to 


124 THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 

meet her, holding a jewel case in his hand on which were engraved 
the initials C. D. 

“You are not very rich in jewelry,” he said, bowing. “ I did 
not at the time of our marriage procure all that 1 wished for you. 
Let me repair the omission now.” 

And he handed the case to Claire, who stood speechless and hesi- 
tating. The baroness seized it, and opening, drew from it a mar- 
velous stream of diamonds which she shook and made sparkle in the 
light with exclamations of transport. 

“ Oh, my dear, see; it is a princely gift!” 

Claire’s face clouded. The gift was indeed princely; she thought 
of the forty thousand francs, the pretended revenues of her dowry, 
which lay upstairs in an ebony cabinet, and felt deeply humiliated 
as she contrasted with it the enormous value of the necklace. Money, 
which had been her supreme argument, her husband dispensed for 
her with royal indifference, though it had been won with the sweat 
of his brow. 

“ Come, Philippe, fasten the badge of slavery to her neck your- 
self. It is the least you can do,” said the baroness. And, turning 
to her husband, who entered in irreproachable toilet, “ Y T ou, my 
dear, who are always in search of little pebbles, try and find some 
like these.” 

The iron-master fastened the sparkling jewels on his wife’s neck 
with hands that trembled as they lightly touched her satiny skin. 

“ Come, come,” resumed the baroness, “on a day like this, the 
rule is to kiss.” 

And she pushed Claire into Philippe’s arms. 

The iron-master turned pale as death as he bent and touched his 
wife’s brow with the coldest and the most longed-for of kisses. 
Then he suddenly passed into the adjoining salon. 

Claire had never before had an opportunity to judge of the impor- 
tance of her husband’s position. Wherever he went she saw him 
welcomed with eager deference, but it was only in receiving in her 
own home all that was most considerable in the province that she 
understood the influence which the iron-master commanded. The 
dinner brought together M. Monicaud, the republican prefect, who 
understood how to moderate his opinions when he went into the 
world; the procureur-general, a grave, formal man; the treasurer, 
an old viveur, very genial; the commanding general of the depart- 
ment, together with all the authorities civil and military. 

The metropolitan of Besangon, to whom Philippe had presented a 
handsome railing for the cathedral choir, had taken the trouble to 
attend, and the smiling old man, seated on Claire’s right, braved the 
presence of the prefect of Doubs, who had implacably executed the 
decrees. 

Athenai's was devoured with envy. Sustained by her husband’s 
notice, Claire’s confidence returned to her, and she conversed with 
vivacity, finding the right word for each. She felt that Philippe ad- 
mired her, and exerted all her intelligence to accomplish her one all- 
engrossing wish to please him. 

The duke, dazzled by her brilliancy, watched her with an admir- 
ation which he made no attempt to conceal. His eyes were fixed on 
her without remarking that Philippe observed him threateningly. 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


125 

Moulinet, engrossed though he was in ingratiating himself with 
the prefect, was struck with De Bligny’s attitude. lie had not failed 
to remark that the duke was far too much occupied with Claire. He 
attached no importance in general to the young man’s affectations of 
gallantry, but in this case he was filled with apprehension. 

The iron -master was a power, and on the eve of an election must 
be dealt with prudently. He resolved to remonstrate with his son- 
in-law. 

The duchess, who was seated near Philippe, sought to attract his 
attention ; but she found him cold and preoccupied. Obliged to dis- 
pense his civilities everywhere, and to be at the service of every 
one, he suffered all the torments of jealousy at seeing the duke’s 
eyes fixed upon Claire, and felt as if iier shoulders were being sul- 
lied with his imaginary caresses. 

A tremendous anger got possession of him. Athenai's’ futile at- 
tempts to appear to absorb his attention wearied him, and he thought 
of his wife’s prayer to be delivered from the duke and duchess ; but 
to send away the duke was not enough for his wrath. 

He felt relieved when dinner was ended. The air on the terrace 
was deliciously fresh, and there a charming surprise awaited Claire. 

The park was illuminated, and the whole front of the chateau en- 
twined with garlands of flowers. Moulinet had robbed his conserv- 
atory for the occasion, and presented a basket of rushes, plaited and 
gilded, three metres square, tilled with beautiful varieties of orchids. 
But he did not lose sight of his son-in-law, who, having dexterously 
succeeded in blockading Claire in a corner, was pouring" into her ears 
compliments and protestations to which she replied tremblingly, 
gradually raising her voice at the risk of drawing on them the atten- 
tion of Philippe. 

He smilingly placed himself between De Bligny and Claire, enter- 
ing upon conversation with one of the commonplace remarks, which 
had the faculty of driving his son-in-law to the extremest pitch of 
exasperation. 

“ How bright it is to-night!” he said. “ The moon is in her first 
quarter; we shall have fine weather all the week.” 

The duke eyed Moulinet askance, and Claire profited by the di- 
version to make her escape with a keen sense of relief. 

De Bligny made a movement to follow her, but his father in-law, 
with a solemn gesture, stopped him, and led him off to the river. 

“Monsieur the Duke,” he said, “ I regret to observe that you 
strangely abuse the good relations which 1 make it a point to main- 
tain with the iron-master, to — ” 

“ To — ” repeated the duke, measuring Moulinet from head to 
foot, with unparalleled effrontery. 

“ In the first place,” cried the ex- judge, losing patience, “ be good 
enough, son-in-law,” laying great stress upon this last to De Bligny, 
peculiarly unpleasant vocable, “ be good enough to dispense with a 
certain jeering tone which I am not disposed to suffer. ” 

“Monsieur Moulinet revolts, he raises the standard of the con- 
sular magistracy,” said the duke, laughing. 

“ Monsieur Moulinet finds you altogether inconvenient,” resumed 
the father-in-law, raising his voice, “ with respect both to himself 
and to yoilr host, whose wife you are scandalously paying court to.” 


126 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


“ Has madame, your daughter, done me the honor to complain of 
it?” asked the duke, with an exaggerated politeness more irritating 
than his banter. 

“Mafoi! no,” said Moulinet; “she seems to be very little con- 
cerned about your fidelity, which it is easy to understand.” 

“ Well, then?” said the duke. 

Moulinet leaned toward him, and said, with a severely terrible 
glance: 

“ And morality, sir?” 

“Oh! the morality of the Rue des Lombards!” replied the duke, 
carelessly. 

Moulinet became consequential. 

“The Rue des Lombards has its value,” he said, eying the 
duke. “ You are well acquainted with it.” 

“Fie! Monsieur Moulinet!” exclaimed the duke; “do not shake 
your sous in this fashion. Everybody knows you are rich. It is 
your one merit ; do not abuse it. ” 

“ My merit, in that case, has the advantage over yours that it in- 
creases every day. For the rest, 1 am very good to interest myself in 
you. Pursue your guilty designs! You will obtain nothing but a 
quarrel with the husband, and 1 forewarn you that my sympathies 
will be his.” 

“ Perfect!” said the duke. 

“And if he kills you,” he went on, growing more animated, 
“ you will have got only your deserts.” 

“ The judgment of Heaven!” 

“ My daughter and 1 will give you funeral obsequies worthy of 
our fortune, and will go to Monaco or the seaside to weep for you 
till the legal mourning has expired.” 

“ A gay mourning, in other words.” 

“ Brought about by your unbridled passions.” 

“Ah! Monsieur Moulinet, let us cease this!” interrupted the 
duke, haughtily. “I do not ask advice, or accept lessons. Your 
pedantical wisdom amused me for a time, but we have had enough 
of it.” 

“ Very well, sir; do as you will. 1 wash my hands of you.” 

And, with a virtuous shake of his head, the father-in-law returned 
toward the salons. 

A sensation had just been created on the terrace. Suzanne had 
hastened, quite out of breath, to her brother, who was conversing 
with the procureur-general and the prefect. 

“ There is a deputation of workmen here, who ask to speak to 
you.” 

“ What is that?” exclaimed the prefect, “ a little popular demon- 
stration? Excellent!” 

“Ah! it is you, Gobert!” said Philippe, who had gone to meet 
them, recognizing the oldest of his foremen in holiday dress, who 
held in his hand an enormous bouquet, and smiled uneasily. “ Come 
on, my good man, and j r ou, too, friends—” 

Gobert, a tall, gray-haired old man, remained rooted to the same 
spot, petrified by the sight of all this elegant crowd who observed 
him curiously. 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 127 

Go on, ’ * murmured his comrades from behind ; 4 4 you are spokes- 
man.” 

But the man still stood with wide-open eyes, as if he had been 
changed to stone. 

Suzanne broke the spell by advancing and taking the man prettily 
by the hand, led him to Claire. 

His speech had been learned by heart, but in his agitation it would 
not come, and he simply bowed. 

44 Deign, madame,” he said, at last, “ to accept this bouquet , which 
I am commissioned to present in the name of my comrades, with 
our best wishes for your f§te. There are eighteen hundred of us 
at the Pont-Avesnes, who owe everything to your husband, lie has 
built our houses, our schools, and infirmary ; he treats us as his chil- 
dren; and we wish to express our gratitude to you for the happiness 
which he owes to you.” 

Gobert’s voice choked, so great was his emotion. Exclamations 
and applause broke out vociferously, the signal being given by the 
prefect with a smile of approbation to the young pair. 

Claire shivered as the foreman spoke of Philippe’s happiness. 
Everywhere, and from every one, words of mocking irony pursued 
her. 

The tumult subsided, Gobert still stood rooted to the spot before 
31. and Mine. Derblay. 

“ But there is more to say,” he resumed. 44 A deputy is about to 
be elected — ” 

At these words Moulinet advanced a step, as if he were now the 
person in question. 

4 ' And we have come to pray the patron to suffer his name to be 
brought forward in the department of the Pont-Avesnes.” 

At the last words Moulinet heaved a sigh of relief. 

44 The district adjoining mine,” he exclaimed. 44 Bravo!” 

A tempest of hurrahs and exclamations arising from the gate of 
the court, made echo to the words of the old foreman. The work- 
men from the factory and their wives and daughters, all in their 
Sunday best, were crowding the square witnessing from afar the dem- 
onstration they had prepared. 

44 Open the gate,” said Philippe, 44 and let them enter!” 

In another instant, a joyous stream had dispersed through the par- 
terres, overflowing the park where the Venetian lanterns were ilium 
inating with their many-colored lights the somber walks and myster- 
ious rond-points. 

44 It "was a happy thought of these good people,” said the prefect. 
44 Monsieur Derblay is one of ours, a liberal in the widest sense. 
His name signifies for all enlightenment, honesty, work, and lib- 
erty.” 

44 That is a candidacy which shall have my support,” said Mouli- 
net. 44 We will divide the district. I shall set my farmers to w ont. 
Committees, reunions, speeches, 1 shall take charge of all that. We 
will carry the election with a high hand!” 

44 1 accept, friend,” said Phillipe, 44 the honor you have done me, 
not with ambitious ends, but hoping it may be in my pow r er to serve 
you.” 

There was a great tumult. For one or two minutes nothing was 


128 


THE MASTER OE THE FORGES. 


to be seen but arms, liats, and caps frantically waved. Then the 
noise suddenly ceased. Claire had advanced in her turn. 

“ For myself, friends,” she said, “ I thank you from my heart for 
your kind thought. And you, Gobert, come and kiss me for your 
comrades. ’ ’ 

And smiling graciously she presented her cheek to the old fore- 
man, who turning very red beneath his white hair, touched her face 
as cautiously as if it had been the red-hot iron he was used to ham- 
mer. 

“Oh! madame,” he said, “ the Derblays have always been good, 
and you are worthy to be one of them.” 

Claire gave a glance of triumph toward her husband. The words 
of the workman seemed to reunite the links which bound her to 
Phillippe. 

Athenai's whispered sneeringly to La Brede and Du Tremblays, 

“ Is it not charming? We are swimming in socialism.” 

An acclamation cut short her words. Phillippe had given the 
order to loll several casks of w T ine to a rond-point of the park and 
had sent for the band. In a few moments more the musicians w r ere 
sending forth the clamorous notes of then* instruments from an im- 
provised scaffolding. The vine- growers attracted by the noise had 
come to mingle with the factory hands, and the old'hostility which 
had been wont to divide the county seemed about to disappear. The 
noisy tumultuous throng looked like a swarm of black ants in the 
broad walks beneath the trees with their somber verdure brightened 
into many gay hues by the lanterns. 

Suddenly a stream of brilliant light flashed through the darkness 
as the first bomb of a display of fireworks secretly prepared by the 
baron burst in the air, throwing over the startled crowd a dazzling 
shower of stars. Rockets with fiery trains plowed the air, and the 
shrubbery was illumined with green and red Bengal lights. The 
musicians dropped their instruments to watch the capricious wind- 
ing of the serpents, and the shooting of Roman candles. The prefect 
turning toward Moulinet remarked with animation, 

“See what a fine display the red makes. What a handsome 
color!” 

“ 1 like the green too,” replied the ex -judge who had not caught 
the allusion. 

“It is the color of hope,” said the treasurer-general, bowing 
graciously. 

“ Well, Monsieur Moulinet,” said the baron, approaching, “ all is 
going well? You seem enchanted.” 

“ Yes, baron,” replied the ex-judge expansively. “ This luxury, 
gayety, and feasting delight me. 1 was born for high life. My 
tastes are a protest against the injustice of my birth — ” 

“ Which your intelligence must cause every one to forget,” said 
Prefont with his imperturbable sang-froid. 

The sky was overspread with a brilliant red, upon a fiery column 
appeared a child defined in red light crowning a tall lady outlined 
in a silhouette of white light. 

“ Love crowning Industry,” said the baron, who felt called upon 
to explain the emblem. 

“ I understand,” muttered Monicaud in the procureur’s ear. “ Last 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


129 


year at NeufcMtel we had the red infant and white lady to represent 
the ‘ Future crowning France.’ ” 

“And 1,” said the treasurer, “saw the same figure at Yille 
d’Avray at the f6te of Dr. Thomson, the celebrated accoucheur, as 
1 Infancy crowning Medicine.’ ” 

A startling noise and a blinding light put a stop to all conversation. 
A sheet of fire shot upward and rested over the spectators like a 
vault. A hail of sticks fell on the heads of those nearest amid ex- 
clamations and laughter. Then it became dark again, and the park 
was softly lighted as before by the Venetian lanterns. As if the 
signal had been given by an invisible hand, the band struck up, send- 
ing out to the night wind the music of a quadrille. Then silence 
ensued, and a voice was heard: 

“ Take your places for a quadrille.” 

A sudden grisette caprice seized Athenais to join in the dance with 
the peasants, and she leaned toward Philippe. 

“Oh! Monsieur Derblay, let us open the dance together. It 
would be charming. Come, you will dance with me!” 

Philippe did not reply, hesitating between a desire to refuse and 
the fear to be impolite. He glanced toward Claire. She turned pale. 
A bantering voice, the detested voice of the duke, said in her ear: 

‘ Do you sec?” And he indicated Atbena’is leaning over Philippe 
with her eyes fixed on him. 

Claire trembled with vexation and mortification. At the same 
moment her eyes met those of Jier husband and she read in them so 
plainly constraint and weariness, that it inspired her with a sudden 
resolution. She approached Athenai's and touched her arm as she 
was repeating: “ Will you not open the dance with me?” 

“ Pardon me if I counteract your plans, but 1 wish to speak to 
you.” 

“To me?” said the duchess, with surprise not unmingled with 
annoyance. “ Immediately?” 

“ Immediately.” 

“ The case is urgent then?” 

“ Quite so.” 

Athenai’s looked fixedly in her enemy’s face. Claire sustained her 
regard with so much firmness that the duchess presaged that a catas- 
trophe was impending, and lowering her eyes: 

“What is it, dear?” she said sottly, attempting to take Claire’s 
hand. 

“ Follow me and you shall know,” said Mme. Derblay. And she 
led Athenai’s into a small deserted salon. 

They remained standing for a moment, and facing each other like 
adversaries who are about to decide a quarrel by a trial of main 
force. 

“ Will you have a seat?” asked Mme. Derblay. 

“ It will be long then?” half suppressing a discourteous yawn. 

“ I hope not,” replied Claire. 

Athenai’s seated herself in an arm-chair with one foot thrown for- 
ward, and fixed her eyes upon the jet on the toe of her shoe, moving 
it to and fro in the light with an air of perfect indifference to what 
Claire might have to say. 

“ I have a favor to ask of you.” 

5 


130 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


“ Am I so fortunate as to have it in my power to serve you .** t ** 
quirecl Athcna'is with nonchalance. 

“Yes. The other day when you carried off my husband at the 
hunt you inquired whether it annoyed me, and whether 1 was not 
jealous.” 

“ 1 was jesting only.” 

“You were wrong then for what you said was true.” 

AthenaYs, astonished, dropped her listless attitude, and began to 
hold herself on her guard. 

“ You jealous?”' she said. 

“ Ypq ” 

“ Of me?” 

“ Of you!” repeated Claire, ana with a forced smile added, “ You 
see 1 am frank. My husband is occupied with you more than 1 
like, and I appeal to you to put an end to attentions to which you 
attach no importance and which annoy me.” 

“Oh! dear child,” exclaimed AthenaYs, turning to Claire with 
animation, and full of a tender interest, “ what! you have been 
suffering and have kept silent. But do you not exaggerate a trifle? 
1 remember nothing that could have caused your annoyance. Mon- 
sieur Derblay is veiy amiable, he appears to find pleasure in talking 
to me, but a sympathy like ours between members of one family is 
neither surprising nor criminal.” 

“It pains me nevertheless,” persisted Claire. 

“It is from your husband that you should seek a remedy for your 
distemper, my dtar friend; I can do nothing.” 

“ Yes, you can put a stop to this intimacy. ” 

AthenaYs sunk again languidly in her chair. She began to per- 
ceive Claire’s meaning. It was a disarmament that she requested of 
her. Moderating the harsh tones of her voice to a blandness which 
was more exasperating than her previous harshness. 

“And how? By being ungracious to your husband? That would 
impose a very disagreeable role upon me. Besides, do you believe 
the means would be efficacious?” 

She smiled the vaunting smile of a woman satisfied of her ascend- 
ency. 

“That,” said Claire quietly, “is not what 1 was about to pro- 
pose.” 

“ What, then?” 

Mine. Derblay hesitated a moment. Then, boldy: 

“ That you should absent yourself for a time from our house.” 

“ AthenaYs started: “ Do you mean that?” 

“Yes,” said Claire, with a voice as gentle as her rival’s was 
sharp. “ 1 ask it as a favor. Think, if you will, that I am mad, 
but it involves my happiness. ’ ’ 

“ And under what pretext shall I absent myself? What will the 
world say of a separation so abrupt as to have the appearance of a 
quarrel?” 

“We will devise satisfactory pretexts for it.” 

AthenaYs was embarrassed "by Claire’s persistence. She found 
Mme. Derblay stronger than she had believed, and reflecting that if 
the least concession should be made all was lost, she had recourse to 
energetic measures. 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


131 


“We might not succeed,” she said, “ and it would be prejudicial 
to me. You have been frank. 1 will be so also. I am new to the 
world into which the Duke de Bligny has introduced me, and 1 wish 
to preserve the place 1 have made for myself in it. But it is an ex- 
acting one, and if my husband’s family turned their backs upon me, 
jealousy would find gratification in discussing me — and adieu my 
dreams! If you have your love, 1 have my ambition. 1 understand 
your wish to protect the one; suffer me to protect the other.” 

Claire began to tremble with indignation. She felt a desire to 
seize the wretch and crush her. 

“ Then you refuse?” she said in a stifled voice. 

“ Against my will, but in conscience put. yourself in my place. ’’ 

The irony was so pointed that Athenais could not repress a smile. 

“ Put myself in your place!” exclaimed Claire with vehemence. 
“ It is you who have put yourself in mine. Y ou have pursued me 
with your hate since I first knew you. As a girl you robbed me of 
my betrothed, as a wife 3 r ou try to rob me of my husband. You 
have taken the one, you shall not take the other!” 

“Ah!” said Athenais, livid with rage, “let us raise our masks 
then, for in truth so much dissimulation oppresses me! Yes, from 
my childhood 1 have returned in hatred all that I have received from 
you, and such as you, in disdain. For ten years you have crushed, 
me with your name, your fortune, and your wit. To-day 1 am a 
duchess, 1 have millions and you come humbly to solicit a favor at 
my hands.” 

“ Take care!” said Claire, “ Iconic of a race that does not submit 
tamely to insult. ’ ’ 

“And I bear a name which places me beyond reach of your 
anger.” 

“ I will make an appeal against your conduct to me.” 

“ To whom?” 

“ To the world.” 

“ To which? To yours to which I have risen, or to mine to which 
you have descended. ” 

“ To whichever holds respect for others a duty, and self-respect a 
right. Before that world I will repeat what I have said to you, 1 
will exhibit you as you are, and we shall see whether the name you 
bear will shelter your baseness and perfidy.” 

“ It is a scandal, then, that you wish*’ Athenais hissed between 
her teeth. 

“It is an execution that 1 intend. For the last time, will you 
assent to my request?” 

“ No, a hundred times, no,” replied A thenai's, grinding her teeth. 

“ Then you shall see!” 

Steps were heard on the sand, and a sound of merry voices came 
to them through the windows. Philippe appeared on the stairs 
with the baroness on his arm. The duke, laughing with La Br£de, 
followed, and lastly Moulinet who had attached himself to the 
baron. As they entered, Claire and Athenais stood confronting 
each other, pale and trembling in an attitude so defiant that they all 
paused in astonishment. 

“ Duke,” said Claire, advancing and designating Athenais with a 


132 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


gesture of withering contempt, “ take your wife away, if you do 
not wish me to drive her from here in presence of everybody.” 

De Bligny stood impassible, the ghost of a smile wandering over 
his lips. "But Moulinet unable to believe his* ears, darted forward 
and tossing up his arms : 

“Drive away my daughter — the duchess — my daughter!” he re- 
peated, as if the armorial bearings of all France had been outraged in 
her person. 

Athenais turned to the duke, and said in piercing tones: 

“ Monsieur, will you suffer me to be insulted in this manner with- 
out defending me?” 

De Bligny advanced a step toward Philippe. 

“ Do you approve, sir, of what Madame Derblay has said to 
the duchess? Are you ready to apologize, or do you sustain her?” 

Claire fixed her eyes in agony on her husband. Was he going to 
defend or disown her? She had never yet suffered as she did in 
this second of horrible uncertainty. 

The iron-master had advanced toward De Bligny as he spoke, his 
tall figure drawn up, towering a head over the duke’s and bowing- 

“ Monsieur the Duke,” he said, “ whatever Madame Derblay has 
done, and for whatever reason she has done it, I hold it for well 
done. ’ ’ 

The duke bowed with elegance, and making a sign to La BrMe. 

“ I understand,” he said. And offering his arm to Athenais, he 
left the room followed by La Br&de and the bewildered Moulinet. 

“A devilish business!” muttered La Br£de. “Two cousins — 
De Bligny has received the insult, and will choose pistols. The 
iron- master is a dead man!” 

Claire, as she witnessed the departure of her rival, had no thought 
of the terrible consequences of her bold stroke. She approached her 
husband with a cry of triumph, and in a passion of gratitude. 

“Oh! thank you, Philippe!” and she stretched out her arms 
vaguely. 

But her ardor immediately subsided. Her husband had grow T n 
impassible. 

“ You owe me no thanks,” lie said. “ In defending you, 1 de- 
fended my own honor.” 

Seeing that she had relapsed into despondency and silence: “ Do 
not forget,” he added, “ t^at we have guests, and that no one must 
suspect wbat has passed.” 

He offered his arm to the baroness whose nerves were so shaken 
that she was uncertain whether to laugh or cry. Claire dashed aside 
a tear, and with a sad smile to the baron who had remained near her : 

“ Come,” she said, “ since it must be, let us dance.” 


CHAPTER XV1I1. 

The night was cruelly long to Claire. When she found herself 
in her own room the gravity of the situation rushed upon her and 
she grew terrified. Certainly it had been but a simple exercise of 
her right to revolt and drive away the woman who defied, 
threatened, outraged her in her own house. But her husband had 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


133 


been forced to sustain her, and it had involved him in a quarrel 
with the duke. She knew that DeBligny was not an adversary to be 
despised. If an encounter should result, would not Philippe’s life 
be in terrible danger? She had seen Octave and the baron confer- 
ring with La Br£de and Moulinet toward the end of the evening, and 
on questioning them had received evasive answers. A superstitious 
dread seized her that this union betw een the iron-master and herself 
was ill fated, a presentiment that if her husband fought he would 
be killed, and terrible images haunted her thoughout the night. 

She saw Philippe lying lifeless and blood-stained on the turf, and . 
the duke, with his reeking pistol in his hand, laughing his evil laugh. 
Why the pistol? She vainly assured herself that the weapon, chosen 
w T ould be the sword, she still saw the two men with pistols in their 
hands, she heard the double report, she saw a light smoke 
ascend, and heard Philippe fall heavily on the sod. 

She walked to the window, hoping to shake off the waking night- 
mare which pursued her. The air was soft, the clear night spark- 
ling writli stars. . The expiring Venetian lanterns animated for an 
instant by the breeze blazed out in the darkness. The red spots 
seemed to her excited fancy spots of blood, and with a shiver she 
closed the window and drew the curtains to shut out the sinister 
light. 

She began pacing her chamber, but her mind reverted inces- 
santly to the thought of Philippe’s death. “ I bring misfortune to 
all who approach me,” she said aloud, and the sound of her own 
voice in the silence terrified her. She sunk into a long chair and 
tried to read, but the pendulum of the clock sounded in her ears a 
funeral knell. 

Then it came into her mind to go and find out what Philippe was 
doing, and crossing the little salon on tiptoe, she gained the door of 
his chamber. All was dark and silent. Concluding that he was 
asleep, and a little reassured by the thought, she returned to her 
room. 

Philippe w 7 as not in his chamber, nor was he asleep He had 
shut himself up in his cabinet on the ground-floor beneath the room 
occupied by Claire. He well recognized the gravity of the coming 
encounter between the duke and himself. The preliminaries had 
been all arranged between the seconds, and in spite of the tearful 
entreaties of Moulinet, a meeting was to hike place at eight the next 
morning in the woods between Pont-Avesnes and Varenne, at the 
same rond-point which a few days before had resounded with gayety 
and mirth. The weapon chosen by the duke was the pistol, the dis- 
tance thirty paces, and Philippe offered no objection. Though he 
had had little practice with the pistol, he was an excellent shot with 
the gun, and certain of his aim, he reflected with joy that if he 
risked his own life, his adversary’s was in his power. Between 
these two men of equal courage and coolness it was impossible to 
predict the victor, but there seemed little doubt that one of the two 
was condemned to death. 

Seated there alone and knowing that he had perhaps but a few 
hours to live, Philippe made an honest scrutiny of his conduct. The 
idea that held possession of his mind was the thought that he had 
perhaps been too severe with Claire. He felt a profound pity for 


134 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


this poor troubled heart which had so deeply suffered, and which he 
now knew to be filled with himself. The trial to which he had 
subjected her was complete, there remained no room to doubt that 
living, Claire would be entirely his, or dead, devoted to his memory. 
The end he had been seeking he had gained, and he felt calm. 

He could not, in his heart, feel regret that he had hammered this 
character of bronze and fashioned it to his will. In the result obtained 
there was a guarantee for Claire’s happiness if chance favored him, 
and he returned alive. If left to herself, she would with certainty 
have been unhappy. Too intelligent not to be conscious that she 
had wrecked her existence, and too proud to admit that the fault 
had been hers, she would have lived the prey to a bitter vindictive- 
ness, and soured by vain regrets. The lesson he had given her had 
been salutary. He had recovered, reconquered this heart, and the 
time had come when they might be happy. 

The sound of footsteps over his head made him start. He listened. 
It was a regular measured tread, and in each vibration of the ceiling 
he could divine his young wife’s agitation. He saw her with tear- 
less eyes, contracted features, and trembling hands, with the look on 
her face that he knew so well in the frenzy of her sorrow or anger. 
For the first time he felt that his love made him weak. His temples 
throbbed. He felt a well-nigh irrepressible longing to fly to the 
wife whom he adored, and who was not his. Would it not be mad- 
ness to risk death without having once held her in his arms, without 
having pressed his lips in the perfumed tresses of her golden hair? 
A night of love might be his, perhaps to know no morrow. He laid 
his hand on the knob of the door and there he paused. 

Could it be indeed he who was on the point of yielding to such a 
weakness? After all the suffering endured, was he about to give 
way at the last? It was his whole future that was at stake. If he 
survived, Claire was his without distrust in the present, or fear for 
the future. If he died he would remain in her eyes great, strong, 
and proud. It should be all or nothing ; a whole lifetime of happi- 
ness — or death, silent and cold. 

Over his head, Claire continued her feverish walk. Pie heard her 
open the door, cross the salon, and with furtive step approach his 
chamber. Pie smiled and listened attentively. In another minute 
she recrossed the salon and returned to her apartment. She too then 
had thought of a reconciliation, and had recoiled. He felt how, in 
going to her he would have fallen from tlie height of his superiority 
to become a mere vulgar being at the mercy of his senses. 

A pale light, announcing the break of day, recalled him to the mate- 
rial concerns that should occupy his last "moments. His sister was 
to be provided for. He fully recognized the good qualities of the 
marquis; it had been with the purpose of being true to his conjugal 
tactics that he had refused Suzanne to Octave. The final crisis was 
drawing near, and he had promised himself that at the last moment 
he would redress the wrong that had been done to Octave, and also 
to Suzanne, who loved him. And at the thought of causing a grief 
to this child who had been the solace of his life, his heart melted. 
He wished to add solemnity to his consent to their union by giving 
it a testamentary form. He made his dispositions with composure 
and s 2lf -collecledness, making an equal division of his fortune be- 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


135 


tween Suzanne and Claire, praying 4 4 his dear wife to accept it as a 
testimonial of his deep affection.” He chose from among his en- 
gineers a manager capable of supplying his place, and having pro- 
vided for everything, lay down on a large leather divan and pre- 
pared for a few minutes of sleep. 

At Yarenne the excitement was intense. Athenai's returned from 
Pont-Avesnes in a state of indescribable rage. At the moment when 
the woman she hated seemed vanquished and at her mercy, she had 
risen, haughty and triumphant, and it was she, the Duchess de 
Bligny who was humiliated, expelled, defeated! For this rupture 
would do her an irreparable injury. All the duke’s family would 
espouse the side of Claire. The cause of the meeting and the 
grounds of her expulsion would be rehearsed, commented on, and 
exaggerated by a society which detested her. Atlienais ground her 
teeth at the thought; she felt consumed with a thirst for bloodshed. 
She would have wished to take the duke’s place that the bloody- 
work might be better and surer. She- drew a picture of Claire in 
her widow’s dress, pale and weeping, cursing the hour in which she 
had outraged her. By striking the husband whom she loved she 
would poison the springs of her life. She burst into a frightful 
laugh as she flung her glasses and fan violently outlie table, aad 
turning to her father and husband, who regarded her silently; 

” This man must be killed!” she said with rage. 

There was a moment of stupefaction; Moulinet aghast at his 
daughter’s tragic vehemence and the duke astonished to find her 
hatred equal to his own. He was vexed, however, that she had 
brought about an explosion resulting in a humiliating retreat for 
them both, and blamed her want of self-command. Habituated to 
the masks ol politeness in his own world, to rancors concealed be- 
neath smiles, Athenai's appeared in his eyes fearfully vulgar and 
maladroit, while her Borgia attitude vexed him. He looked at her 
quietly, and said in a careless tone: 

44 Kill this man! You speak quite coolly, my dear. Such phrases 
sound well enough in melodrama, but in every-day life are to the 
last degree absurd. Try and leave off displaying long words and 
long arms!” Then with a cold smile. 44 However, 1 shall do my 
best to satisfy you.” 

44 Listen, Monsieur the Duke,” said Moulinet, rousing himself 
from a labored meditation. 44 1 see you are disposed to push mat- 
ters to extremity — ” 

44 Did you not hear your daughter, dear sir?” said De Bligny, 
coldly. 44 Do you consider me so unmindful of my duties as not to 
defend my wife?” 

“That is not the question. You have acted with perfect pro- 
priety, 1 admit. But my daughter is mad to urge you to violence, 
she should exhort you to conciliation. All may yet be arranged. A 
trifling quarrel between cousins who shake hands and all is made 
up. But a duel — a scandal, a rupture — do you appreciate the con- 
sequences? For you they are tremendous — and for me! You ruin 
my election.” 

Despite the gravity of the situation the duke could not repress a 
laugh. Athenai's emitted a disdainful hiss from the arm-chair 
where she had coiled herself up like a viper. 


136 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 

“Pardon me, Monsieur the Duke,” resumed Moulinet, “but 1 
have done enough for you to be a little exacting in my turn. This 
affair must be arranged. Every day such things occur, and end in 
an accommodation. It is an easy matter. A little procbs-verbal will 
be drawn up by which Madame Derblay retracts her words, and 
you, son-in-law, will withdraw your challenge. Each of you with- 
drawing something, there will be nothing remaining but — ” 

“ But to withdraw ourselves,” said the duke. 

“ Which is often done.” 

“Not in the case of persons like Monsieur Derblay and me. 
Take my advice, Monsieur Moulinet, impose silence on your too 
sensitive heart, stifle the lamentations of your threatened candi- 
dacy, and let things take their course. 1 must bid you good night, 
1 have to speak to La Br&de before retiring.” 

And bowing tranquilly to his wife and father-in law, the duke 
left the room. 

Moulinet drew a little nekrer Atlienais. “Let us see, my dear 
child,” he stammered. 

The duchess rose, cold and pale, and without looking at him 
opened the door leading to her chamber and vanished. Moulinet 
shook his head despondently, and for the first time confessed to 
himself that difficulties existed for which money could not find a 
remedy. 

“ Night brings counsel,” he said to himself. “To-morrow we 
will see more clearly.” And clinging to a vague hope he went to 
his chamber and stretched himself out on his Emperor Charles 
Fifth bedstead. 

The iron-master had slept for two hours when a light touch on 
his shoulder aroused him. He opened his eyes and saw the Mar- 
quis de Beaulieu standing over him. He sprung up quickly. It 
was broad daylight. The hands of the clock pointed to half past 
six. 

“We have time!” he murmured. 

Never had he felt freer and stronger in body and mind. To this 
man of will everything that evidenced to him his mortal strength 
was a secret delight. He walked to the window and opened it. 
The air was pure and fresh, laden with the delicious perfume of 
flowers damp with dew. His eyes wandered over the dense shrub- 
bery of the park. A light transparent blue mist floated over the 
trees, the river already sparkled in the sun, now high in the 
heavens. Nature seemed adorned for a fSte. 

“ A beautiful day!” he exclaimed, gayly, as if about to set out on 
a hunt. 

His glance met that of Octave, and he read a silent reproach in 
his eyes. The iron-master approached his brother-in-law, and 
pressed his hand affectionately. 

“Do not be astonished to see me careless and almost gay this 
morning. 1 feel a presentiment that it will end well for me.” And 
becoming grave he added, “ However, we must provide against mis- 
chance, and my arrangements are all completed. You will find 
them recorded in this letter.” 

And he pointed to a letter on his table addressed to Bachelin. 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 137 

“ My old friend and you will be my executors. To you, Octave, 
I leave what is dearest to me.” 

A flash of joy illumined the face of the marquis. His voice 
choked, and throwing his arms around Philippe he sobbed on his 
shoulder. . - «. 

“ Come, a little more firmness, Octave. 1 hope it will be from 
my hand that you will receive your sister. But if it should be other- 
wise, my friend, love her well, for she deserves it. Hers is a tender 
heart that the least sorrow would break.” 

His voice grew infinitely soft as he spoke of the sister to whom he 
had been a real father. Passing his hand over his forehead he re- 
covered his composure. 

“ 1 must dress; will you go upstairs with me, and then we will 
go together to find the baron. 1 wish to leave here without attract- 
ing attention.” 

Octave bent his head without replying, then after a moment’s 
silence, with an effort: 

“Philippe,” he said, “before seeing you, 1 saw my sister. 
Promise me that you will not go without seeing her.” 

Philippe looked at the marquis inquiringly. 

“ You cannot surely leave her without giving her at least an op- 
portunity to justify herself to you if it is possible.” 

And as the iron-master made a sudden movement of surprise. 

“ I have known for three days what has passed between you and 
Claire. 1 know what my sister’s fault has been ; 1 am grieved, be- 
lieve me, for the disappointment you have suffered, as much as 1 
admire you for having been able so well to conceal it. But be in- 
dulgent to her, 1 implore you. It would be unworthy of you to 
overwhelm her with despair. Reflect that she may never see you 
again. Do not leave her with the double remorse of having deso- 
lated your life and perhaps of having caused your death.” 

The iron-master turned away his face, which had grown very 
pale. 

“ I will do as you ask,” he said, “ but the interview will be terri- 
bly painful to us both. Do what you can to shorten it, and facili- 
tate my departure by coming for me.” 

The marquis made a sign of acquiescence, and pressing Philippe’s 
hand, they went out together. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

The baroness, coming early in the morning to Claire’s room 
found her after the agitation of the night in a state of torpor. On 
speaking to her she failed to elicit a reply. Claire sat in a long chair 
with contracted features and a settled stare, as if all the life that was 
in her was concentrated upon some frightful vision. Each stroke 
of the clock announcing the passing ot the hours made her start. 
But for this movement, and for the wild light in her eyes it might 
have been supposed that she slept. 

The arrival of her brother aroused her. She had concentrated all 
her hopes upon the passionate wish to see Philippe before his de- 
parture. She had charged Octave with obtaining this favor for her. 


138 THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 

and then she waited, walking to the window and raising the curtain 
to discover whether Philippe were setting off, and when she did not 
see him at the door listen for his coming. 

Suddenly a sound of footsteps made her draw back as though she 
shrunk from Ending herself face to face with him whom she so 
longed to see. She turned pale, a dark shade gathered about her 
eyes, and signing to the baroness to leave her, she stood trembling 
and voiceless. Philippe entered. 

They stood looking at each other speechless, he examining the 
traces of anguish on the face of his young wife, she striving to col- 
lect her thoughts and discovering nothing in her agitated brain but 
emptiness. 

Unable to endure the painful silence longer, she drew near Phil- 
ippe, seized his hand, and covered it with tears and kisses. 

The iron -master had anticipated an explanation, had prepared 
himself for prayers and entreaties. This silent abandonment of grief 
unmanned him. He made an effort to withdraw the hand upon 
which the woman he loved was raining hot tears, but he could not. 
He shivered and felt himself without strength to resist his weakness. 

“ Claire!” he said, in a low voice, “ 1 beg you! You agitate me, 
and I need all my self-command. Be calm, 1 entreat. Be strong, 
and spare me if you value my life.” 

She raised her head. The expression of her face changed. 

“ Your life! Ah! I would give my own a thousand times rather. 
Wretch that I am to have endangered you by my rashness! I ought 
to have endured everything. By suffering I mieht have expiated 
my wrongs toward you, but in a moment of folly 1 forgot every- 
thing. This duel is madness — it must not be— I will prevent it.”" 

” How?” asked Philippe, knitting bis brow. 

“ By sacrificing my pride to save you. 1 will humble myself to 
the duchess, it necessary 1 will see the duke — there is yet time.” 

“ 1 forbid it!” said the iron-master, with energy. “ You bear my 
name and your humiliation is mine. Lastly, think if you can how 
I hate the man who has caused all my misfortune. For a year I 
have dreamed of finding myself confronted with him. Oh! this, 
believe me, is a welcome day!” 

Claire bowed her head. She had long accustomed herself to obey 
when Philippe commanded. Calmed by this outburst, he went on: 

“ 1 appreciate your intentions, and thank you for them. There 
has been from the first a misunderstanding between us which has 
cost us both much suffering. I do not hold you entirely to blame; 
I failed to comprehend you. 1 did not know how to make sacrifice 
enough for you, 1 loved you so. But I would not leave you with 
the thought that 1 have preserved any bitter feeling toward you. In 
your turn, pardon me for all the ill 1 have done you, and bid me 
farewell.” 

Claire’s face grew radiant, and with a passion of gratitude: 

“ Pardon you! l!” she exclaimed. “ Do you not see that 1 adore 
you? Have you not long ago read it in my eyes, in my voice—” 

She drew close to him, and twining her beautiful arms round his 
neck, and dropping her blonde head on his shoulder, intoxicating 
him with her perfume, with her glances, she spoke as if in a dream: 

“ Ah ! do not leave me. If you knew how 1 love you ! Stay, stay 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


139 


with me — all mine, my own. "We are so young, we have so much 
time left to be happy. What are this man and woman whom we 
hate to us? We will forget them; let us go away, far away from 
here. There will be happiness, life and love!” 

Philippe disengaged himself gently from her embrace. 

“ Here,” he said, simply, ** are duty and honor.” 

The young wife uttered a groan. The frightful reality had once 
more seized her imagination. She saw again the duke with his 
reeking pistol, laughing a malevolent laugh. 

“No! no!” she cried. 

At the same moment Octave appeared in the door, beckoned to 
Philippe, and withdrew. Claire saw that the moment of departure 
had come, that all was over, and throwing her arms round her hus- 
band, she embraced him convulsively. 

“ Farewell,” murmured the iron-master. 

“ Oh! do not leave me thus!” she said, “ not with that icy word. 
Tell me you love me, do not go till you have said it.” 

Philippe remained immovable. He had said that he pardoned, he 
would not confess that he loved. He disengaged himself and walked 
toward the door, turning as he was about to quit the room: 

“ Pray that I may return alive,” he said, throwing out these words 
as a supreme hope. 

This was all. The wife uttered a cry which brought the baroness 
to her in haste, as the carriage which bore away the iron-master 
rumbled over the avenue. 

Paying no heed to the presence of the baroness, Claire sunk back 
in a chair, and buried her head in the cushions to shut out all 
sight and sound, wishing she could suspend her existence during the 
awful hour that was approaching. She had remained thus for 
several minutes when a soft voice aroused her: 

“ May I come in?” 

Claire exchanged a glance of distress with the baroness. She must 
dissemble and assume a smiling face before Suzanne, who was still 
ignorant of what had passed. Her face appeared in the door, fresh 
and bright. 

“Come in, dear,” said Claire, with a mighty effort forcing a 
smile. 

“ What! you are not dressed!” exclaimed Suzanne, seeing her 
sister-in-law in her dressing-gown. ‘ ‘ 1 have ridden through the 
park in the little carriage.” 

She was pattering up and down the chamber with the liveliness of 
a young kitten: “ And I met Philippe, with the baron and Monsieur 
Octave, in a close carriage. Where could they have been going?” 

Claire turned red and pale at once. Every word of Suzanne’s 
was a torture. Drops broke out on her forehead. 

“Oh! if my husband was with them,” said the baroness, “ they 
must have an experiment at hand — a visit to the quarries.” 

“ Which way were they going?” asked Claire, in a trembling 
voice. 

“ Toward the ponds. To Vareune, perhaps?’ 

“ Oh no,” said the baroness, “ the duke is not a man to rise before 
ten.” 

Claire heard no more. They were going ^ the ponds. Tlvi glade 


140 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 


with its soft turf, its white fence and the waters sleeping beneath 
the trees, rose before her. This desolate spot was propitious for a 
duel, the dreariness of its aspect seemed to destine it for some tragic 
scene. There it was that the duke and Philippe would fight. She 
was sure of it; she could see it all. 

“You used the little carriage? Where did you leave it?” she 
asked: 

“ In the stable-yard. They are probably unhitching it now/’ 

“ 1 shall take it for a little drive,” said Claire, quickly. 

And slipping into a dress and throwing a lace scarf over her head, 
she went out in haste. 

She set off rapidly, driving with a sure hand. The motion, far 
from calming, excited her. In a frenzy of impatience she set the 
horse into a gallop, dashing violently over the forest road, which 
threatened to smash everything to pieces, biting her lips and envy- 
ing the wings of the birds, listening with breath suspended by the 
beatings of her heart for the report of a pistol. 

The forest was silent. Far off, the bells of carriages on the high- 
way tinkled merrily. The soft moss carpet muffled the sound of 
her horse’s footsteps. She sprung out and hastened across the 
woods, an instinct warning her that she was nearing the spot. She 
listened and heard voices. 

At the distance of twenty paces from the pond stood M . Moulinet’s 
Chinese kiosk, mirrored in the waters. From thence Claire might- 
see without being seen. Lightly as a hunted hind she glided through 
the trees, and ascending the steps leading to the circular gallery, 
paused, anxious and terrified. 

In the middle of the rond-point, the baron was marking off the 
distance with long strides. La Brede was loading the weapons, as- 
sisted by Moulinet, pale and discomposed. Philippe, at the further 
end of the glade, was walking slowly and talking with Octave and 
the doctor. The duke stood a few paces from the kiosk munching 
a cigar, with a rush canc in his hand with which lie mechanically 
struck the tall stems of foxglove. Claire recalled with a horrible 
pressure at her heart this same rond-point, filled with horsemen and 
groups of elegantly diessed women, and the buffet served by the 
solemn valets of Varenne, a gay and brilliant scene. She was jeal- 
ous then, but what was her jealousy to the torture which she was 
enduring now? Another instant and one of the two men who sought 
each other’s lives for her sake would be stretched on the green turf. 

A mist passed before her eyes, and she had lo cling to the balus- 
trade for support. But her weakness did not last long. She looked 
again, breathless, and with a horrible curiosity. 

The adversaries had taken their places. M. Moulinet had just 
called out in supplicating accents: “ Gentlemen, 1 beg you, gentle- 
men!” and was led away by La Brede and lectured in a corner. Oc- 
tave handed Philippe his weapon and retired. 

“ Gentlemen, are you ready?” asked La Brede, and was answered 
by a simultaneous “ Yes.” 

La Brdde resumed slowly, “ One— two — three — fire!” 

Claire saw the pistols leveled, and in this supreme moment her 
reason forsook her. She sprung forward with a cry, descended at a 


THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 141 

single bound from the kiosk, and flinging herself in front of the 
weapon aimed at Philippe, stopped the barrel with her white hand. 

There was an explosion. Claire turned pale as death, and waving 
frantically her torn and bloody hand, bespattered the duke’s face 
with warm red drops. Then with a sigh she fainted away. 

There was a moment of indescribable confusion. The duke had 
drawn back in horror as he felt the warm, crimson shower. Philippe 
sprung forward, and raising Claire like an infant, transported her to 
the carriage which was waiting at the terminus of the road. 

Claire’s eyes were closed. Anxiously the iron-master, assisted by 
the physician, raised the poor mutilated hand that suffered for him 
and kissed it with adoration. The physician felt it with the delicate 
skill of a woman. 

“ There is nothing broken,” he said at last with relief. “ We 
shall come off better than could have been hoped. The hand will 
be scarred, but that may be concealed by a glove.” 

And recovering his professional sang-froid, he began arranging 
the cushions of the carriage to make the patient more comfortable. 

Philippe’s eyes never quitted Claire. Her prolonged insensibility 
made him uneasy. The baron, accompanied by La Br6de, recalled 
Mm to a sense of the situation. 

“ 1 am charged, sir, by the Duke de Bligny,” said the last, “ to 
express his profound regret for the catastrophe of which he is the 
cause. He is deeply distressed at the accident to Madame Derblay, 
and finds his ideas greatly modified. It seems now impossible to 
proceed with the affair. The courage of my friend is beyond dis- 
pute, as is yours also, monsieur. We give our word of honor that 
the secret of what has passed shall be faithfully kept.” 

The iron-master glanced toward the duke. De Bligny, trembling 
and livid, was leaning against the fence mechanically wiping his face, 
his handkerchief each time marked with a crimson stain. As he 
thought tnat his ball might have wounded Claire mortally, might 
have entered her beautiful brow or her white bosom, his conduct 
presented itself to him in its true light, and he made a vow to remove 
forever from the path of the woman to whom he had brought 
so much suffering. 

La Brede continued talking to Philippe with an emotion that was 
not usual with him. Philippe vaguely understood that he was ex- 
pressing to him his personal regrets. He suffered his hand to be 
pressed, and seeing the duke move off, accompanied by Moulinet, 
hurried the physician into the carriage, and mounting the box, took 
the reins and set off rapidly. 

In the great tapestried cnamber where goddesses were filling the 
cups of warriors, as during Claire’s long illness Philippe was seated 
in silence at the foot of her bed. 

Claire had not recovered consciousness and was tossing on her pil- 
low in a high fever. She opened her eyes and looked vaguely around 
for Philippe. The iron-master rose quickly and bent over her. A 
smile broke over her lips, she wound a bare arm around her hus- 
band’s neck, and drew him toward her. Her excited brain had as 
yet but an indistinct recollection of what had taken place. She 
seemed to be floating immaterial in celestial space. A delicious 


142 THE MASTER OF THE FORGES. 

languor had crept over her. So low that Philippe hardly heard, she 
murmured : 

“I am dead, am I not, my beloved, and dead for you! ITow 
happy 1 am! You smile on me, you love me. I am in your arms. 
IIovv sweet death is! What an adorable eternit}*!” 

The sound of her own voice aroused her suddenly. A severe pain 
shot through her hand. All came back to her, her despair, her 
anguish and her sacrilice. 

“ No! 1 am alive!” she exclaimed. 

She shrunk back, and looking at Philippe as if life and death hung 
on his answer: 

“ One word only!” she said. “ Do you love me?” 

Philippe turned upon her a face radiant with happiness. 

“Yes,” he answered. “ There are two women in you. The one 
who has made me suffer so much is no more. You are she whom 1 
have never ceased to adore.” 

Claire uttered a cry. Her eyes filled with tears, she clung desper- 
ately to Philippe, their lips met, and with a thrill of joy they ex- 
changed their first kiss of love. 


THE END. 


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A Tale of the Shore and Ocean. By 163 

W. H. G. Kingston 20 164 

Loys, Lord Berresford, and Eric Der- 
ing. By “ The Duchess ” 10 165 

Monica and A Rose Distill’d. By 

“The Duchess” 10 166 

Tom Brown’s School Days at Rugby. 

By Thomas Hughes 24 167 

Maid of Athens. By Justin McCarthy 20 j 163 
lone Stewart. By Mrs. E. Lynn Linton 20! 
Sweet is True Love. “ The Duchess 10 169 
Three Feathers. By William Black. 20 170 
The Monarch of Mincing Laue. By 171 

William Black 20 

Kilmenv. By William Black 20 172 

Adrian Bright. By Mrs. Caddy 20 173 

Afternoon, and Other Sketches. By 174 

“Ouida” 10 175 

Rossmoyne. By “ The Duchess ” — 10 
The Last of the Barons. By Sir E. 176 

BulwerLytton 40 j 

Our Mutual Friend. Charles Dickens 40 177 
Master Humphrey’s Clock. By Charles j 178 

Dickens 10 

Peter the Whaler. W. H. G. Kingston 10 
The Witching Hour. “The Duchess” 10 179 
A Great Heiress. By R. E. Francillou 10 *80 
“ That Last Rehearsal.” By “ The 

Duchess ” 10 j 181 

Uncle Jack. By Walter Besant 10 ! 182 

Green Pastures and Piccadilly. By 183 

William Black 20 

The Romantic Adventures of a Milk- 184 

maid. By Thomas Hardy 10 185 

A Glorious Fortune. Walter Besant. . 10 186 
She Loved Him ! By Annie Thomas. 10 187 

Jenifer. By Annie Thomas 20 188 

One False, Both Fair. J. B. Harwood 20 189 
Promises of Marriage. By Gaboriau 10 190 
God and The Man. Robert Buchanan 20 i 
Love Finds the Way. By Walter Be- 191 

sant and James Rice 10 192 

Rachel Ray. By Anthony Trollope. . 20 193 
Thorns and Orange-Blossoms. By 

the Author of “ Dora Thorne ”.. . 10 194 
The Captain’s Daughter. From the 195 

Russian of Pushkin 10 

For Himself Alone. By T. W. Speight 10 196 
The Ducie Diamonds. C. Blatherwick 10 197 
The Uncommercial Traveler. By 193 

Charles Dickens 20 :99 

The Golden Calf. Miss M. E. Braddon 20 200 
Annan Water. By Robert Buchanan. 20 201 
Lady Muriel’s Secret, By Jean Mid- 202 

die mass 20 203 

“ For a Dream’s Sake.” By Mrs. Her- 204 

bert Martin 20 205 

Milly’s Hero. By F. W. Robinson — 20 206 
The Starling. Norman Macleod, D.D. 10 


PRICE. 

A Moment of Madness, and Other 

Stories. By Florence Marrvat 10 

Her Gentle Deeds. By Sarah Tytler. 10 
The Lady of Lyons. Founded on the 
Play of that Title by Lord Lytton. 10 
Eugene Aram. Sir E.Bulwer Lytton 20 
Winifred Power. By Joyce Darrell . . 20 
Leila; or, The Siege of Grenada. By 

Sir E. Bulwer Lytton 10 

The History of Henry Esmond. By 
William Makepeace Thackeray .. . 20 
Moonshine and Marguerites. By “ The 

Duchess ” 10 

Heart and Science. By Wilkie Collins 20 
No Thoroughfare. By Charles Dick- 
ens and Wilkie Collins 10 

The Haunted Man. Charles Dickens. 10 
A Great Treason. By Mary Hoppus. 30 
Fortune’s Wheel, and Other Stories. 

By “The Duchess” 10 

“ Golden Girls.” By Alan Muir 20 

The Foreigners. By Eleanor C. Price 20 

Under a Ban. Bj- Mrs. Lodge 20 

Love’s Random Shot, and Other Sto- 
ries. By Wilkie Collins 10 

An April Day. By Philippa P. Jeph- 

sou 10 

Salem Chapel. By Mrs. Oliphant.... 20 
More Leaves from the Journal of a 
Life in the Highlands. By Queen 

Victoria 10 

Little Make-Believe. B. L. Farjeon.. 10 
Round the Galley Fire. By W. Clark 

Russell 10 

The New Abelard. Robert Buchanan 10 

The Millionaire. A Novel 20 

Old Contrairy. and Other Stories. By 

r Florence Marryat 10 

Thirlby Hall. By W. E. Norris 20 

I)ita. By Lady Margaret Majendie.. 10 
The Canon's Ward. By James Payn . 20 
The Midnight Sun. Fredrika Bremer 10 

Idonea. By Anne Beale 20 

Valerie’s Fate. By Mrs. Alexander. . 5 
Romance of a Black Veil. By the Au- 
thor of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

Harry Lorrequer. By Charles Lever. 20 
At the World's Mercy. By F. Warden 10 
The Roseiy Folk. By G. Manville 

Fenn 10 

“ So Near and Yet So Far!” Alison:. 10 
“ The Way of the World.” By David 
Christie Murray 15 

For Her Dear Sake. Mary Cecil Hay 20 

A Husband’s Story 10 

The Fisher Village. By Anne Beale.. 1) 
An Old Man’s Love. Anthony Trollope 10 
The Monastery. By Sir Walter Scott 20 

The Abbot. By Sir Walter Scott 20 

John Bull and Ills Island. Max O’Rell 10 
Vixen. By Miss M. E. Braddon...... 15 

The Minister’s Wife. By Mrs. Oliphant 30 
The Picture, and Jack of All Trades. 

By Charles Reade H> 


(This List is Continued on Fourth Page of Cover.) 


The Seaside Library. 

^ ^ H 

POCKET EXJITI03ST. 


(CONTINUED FROM THIRD PAGE OF COVER.) 


207 Pretty Miss Neville. By B. M. Croker 15 

208 The Ghost of Charlotte Cray, and 

Other Stories. Florence Marryat.. 10 

210 Readiana: Comments on Current 

Events. By Charles Reade 10 

211 The Octoroon. By Miss M. E. Braddon 10 

212 Charles O’Malley, the Irish Dragoon. 

By Charles Lever (Complete in one 
volume) 30 

213 A Terrible Temptation. By Charles 

Reade 15 


214 Put Yourself in His Place. By Charles 

Reade 20 

215 Not Like Other Girls. By Rosa Nou- 

chette Carey 15 

216 Foul Play. By Charles Reade and 

Dion Boucicault 15 

217 The Man She Cared For. By F. W. 

Robinson... 15 

218 Agnes Sorel. By G. P. R. James 15 


206 The Picture, and Jack of All Trades. 

By Charles Reade 10 

205 The Minister’s Wife. By Mrs. Oliphant 30 

204 Vixen. By Miss M. E.' Braddon 15 

203 John Bull and His Island. Max O’Rell 10 

202 The Abbot. By Sir Walter Scott 20 

201 The Monastery. By Sir Walter Scott 20 
200 An Old Man’s Love. Anthony Trollope 10 

190 The Fisher Village. By Anne Beale.. 10 

198 A Husband’s Story 10 

197 For Her Dear Sake. Mary Cecil Hay 20 
196 

195 “ The Way of the World.” By David 

Christie Murray 15 

194 “ So Near and Yet So Far!” Alison.. 10 
193 The Rosery Folk. By G. Manville 

Fenn 10 

192 At the World’s Mercy. By F. Warden 10 

191 Harry Lorrequer. By Charles Lever. 20 

190 Romance of a Black Veil. By the Au- 
thor of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

189 Valerie’s Fate. By Mrs. Alexander. . 5 

188 Idonea. By Anne Beale 20 

187 The Midnight Sun. Fredrika Bremer 10 
186 The Canon’s Ward. By James Payn. 20 
185 Dita. By Lady Margaret Majendie. . 10 

184 Thirl by Hall. By W. E. Norris 20 

183 Old Contrairy, and Other Stories. By 

Florence Marryat. 10 

182 The Millionaire. A Novel 20 

1K1 The New Abelard. Robert Buchanan 10 
180 Round the Galley Fire. By W. Clark 

Russell 10 

,.179 Little Make-Believe. B. L. Farjeon . . 10 
178 More Leaves from the Journal of a 
Life in the Highlands. By Queen 

Victoria 10 

177 Salem Chapel. By Mrs. Oliphant 20 

\176 An April Day. By Philippa P. Jeph- 

son 10 

175 Love’s Random Shot, an-' Other Sto- 
ries. By Wilkie Collins 10 


174 Under a Ban. By Mrs. Lodge 20 

173 The Foreigners. By Eleanor C. Price 20 

172 ‘' Golden Girls.” By Alan Muir 20 

171 Fortune’s Wheel, and Other Stories. 

By “ The Duchess” 10 

170 A Great Treason. By Mary Hoppus. 30 
169 The Haunted Man. Charles Dickens. 10 
168 No Thoroughfare. By Charles Dick- 
ens and Wilkie Collins 10 

167 Heart and Science. By Wilkie Collins 20 
166 Moonshine and Marguerites. By “The 

Duchess ” 10 

165 The History of Henry Esmond. By 

William Makepeace Thackeray .. . 20 
164 Leila; or. The Siege of Grenada. By 

Sir E. Bulwer Lytton t 10 

163 Winifred Power. By Joyce Darrell.. 20 
162 Eugene Aram. Sir E. Bulwer Lytton 20 
161 The Lady of Lyons. Founded on the 

Play of that Title by Lord Lytton. 10 
160 Her Gentle Deeds. By Sarah Tytler. 10 
159 A Moment of Madness, and (Other 


Stories. By Florence Marryat 10 

158 The Starling. Norman Macleod, D.D. 10 
157 Milly’s Hero. By F. W. Robinson 20 

150 “ For a Dream’s Sake.” By Mrs. Her- 

bert Martin 20 

155 Lady Muriel’s Secret. By Jean Mid- 

dlemass. 20 

154 Annan Water. By Robert Buchanan. 20 
153 The Golden Calf. Miss M. E. Braddon 20 
152 The Uncommercial Traveler. By 

Charles Dickens 20 

151 The Ducie Diamonds. C. Blatherwick 10 
150 For Himself Alone. By T. W. Speight 10 
149 The Captain’s Daughter. From the 

Russian of Pushkin 10 

148 Thorns and Orange-Blossoms. By 

the Author of “ Dora Thorne ”... 10 
147 Rachel Ray. By Anthony Trollope . . 20 
146 Love Finds the Way. By Walter Be- 

sant and James Rice 10 


The above books are for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address, postage pre- 
paid, by the publisher, on receipt of 12 cents for single numbers, and 25 cents for double numbers 
Parties wishing the Pocket Edition of '1 he Seaside Library must be careful to mention the Pocket 
Edition, otherwise the Ordinary Edition will be sent. Address, 

GEORGE MUNKO, Publisher, 

P.-O. Box 3751. > . 17 to 27 Vaudewater Street,-Ne\v York. 








































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